


BR0K3N : GENESIS

by SomeoneImSure



Series: BR0K3N [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Culture, Alternate Universe, Dark fic, F/M, Gen, Horror, Human Turned Transformer, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Reality vs Fiction, Romance, Self-Insert, Setting: Cybertron, mature themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-02-22 07:09:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22645765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeoneImSure/pseuds/SomeoneImSure
Summary: A fangirl made a promise to the Allspark that she would help to repair it. She didn't know this meant her spark would be transported to Cybertron and then put into a body meant for a Decepticon warframe. How is she supposed to repair the Allspark when she's been broken and shaped into a killing machine?
Relationships: Jazz/Prowl, Jazz/Prowl (Transformers)/Original Character(s), Megatron (Transformers)/Original Character(s), Prowl/OC
Series: BR0K3N [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1629031
Comments: 11
Kudos: 45





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I am literally beyond tired of the same old, boring, cliche Self-Insert fanfictions that keep coming out. I have been for about 5 years. It's why I started writing T0RN in the first place and why, inevitably, I had to return to it.
> 
> I can't promise this is going to be 100% the same story. The whole point of a rewrite is to correct past mistakes. And since that old story was written by the seat of my pants, there is a lot to correct plot-wise. However, I cannot guarantee that reading T0RN won't spoil you for future plot points - this is a rewrite, after all, not a brand-new story. The characters are the same, the basic theme is the same, and all the good trauma is the same. The only real difference is the setting and a lack of original characters.
> 
> So, now to ask and answer the main question; Would it really be a good thing to become a Transformer?
> 
> ...This is gonna be a slow burn of a story. I can feel it.
> 
> Heehee, can't wait.

Mercy Ferris’ favorite problem was entirely theoretical; if the Allspark was real and the Transformer fandom was real, the first question wasn’t _how did it become real_ but rather _did it exist before the Transformer franchise existed_? Either the fandom was _meant_ to exist or wasn't harming anything by existing.

If it was meant to exist, then someone planned for the entire franchise to exist. The Autobots probably didn’t exist on Earth – they weren’t at St Hilary or the Moon or conducting missions across the world because no one had conspiracies of them existing. Likewise, Megatron couldn’t be locked away in someone’s cellar somewhere because, again, no one was making conspiracies of them. So that meant this someone could have run into the Allspark – or some other artifact that couldn’t be as easily connected with the Transformers.

If the fandom wasn't harming anything by existing, then the Artifact could be completely disconnected from the Transformers franchise. Or it could mean that the government is trying to acclimate the world to the existence of giant robotic aliens from distant worlds, though they would have probably started dropping more hints after the Transformer movies became so successful. No, she could not assume that the Transformers were already on Earth. Which left the source of Transformer knowledge and existence entirely dependent on the Artifact being sentient and wanting to share that information with the human race for some reason or another. In other words, the existence of the franchise was the creation of the Allspark itself, only it was feeding those ideas to random humans who eventually get caught up in writing the franchise.

In that case, the government could have the Artifact and yet be completely unaware of its significance. Or else it was in some museum and treated like a piece of meteorite. She couldn’t imagine it staying in a museum forever – meteorites were cut open all the time to identify what it’s made of or to turn it into expensive jewelry. On top of that, radioactive meteorites would never make it on display and would be investigated by scientists, which there was no evidence of.No, if any pieces of the Allspark existed, they would be in government custody. And if the government was aware of it or being controlled by it, then Hasbro would be government funded, but there were no conspiracies or evidence on that. The Artifact that produced the Transformers franchise could not be easily connected with the Transformers, which could be a sign of the Artifact being unable to properly translate it to the final product – probably because the human brain could only remember so many details.

In other words, the Allspark might not even be in a cubic shape. It could be a ball, like a meteorite. It could be in chunks and pieces. Regardless of whatever form it is in, though, it didn’t change the fact that it could influence people to make a franchise. She felt like it could be in a museum somewhere, since there it could influence a large amount of people. But it could be stuck in the side of a cliff somewhere, just under the surface, and only affect the campers in that area. It literally could be anywhere. She had no way of knowing, unless the Allspark managed to hack into the internet and speak to her.

The problem was supposed to be theoretical, a fun little problem to think about when she was trying to write her next Transformers fanfic, not something that she might return to because of something that was actually happening to her.

She arrived from work, flew up the stairs, and landed in her white plush gaming chair. As if expecting her arrival, the chatroom notification binged.

_TheAllspark: So, will you help me?_

If any of it was true, Mercy didn’t know what she was going to do about it. What could she do? She was a puny human, frail and pathetic next to the giant majesty of alien robots. She didn’t know how to create a blaster let alone repair something that had been broken for thousands of years.

 _TheIronMaiden:_ _Are you real?_

_TheIronMaiden: I need proof._

She had known him for over a year now. She had never pegged him for a lunatic, and he had never talked about visiting a psychiatrist for mental problems. In fact, he never seemed to have mental issues before this point. The only conclusion she could come to was that he had switched medications, but even then she never knew he was on medications.

In fact, she didn’t know a lot about him. A huge oversight considering how long their friendship had been. Well, e xcept for the fact that he used to be CubicMetrons, and she had no idea how he managed to change his username since this chatroom didn’t allow it. And except for the fact that the chatroom never said TheAllspark is typing or CubicMetrons is typing when her former boyfriend and everyone who showed up on chat in the youtube videos would always show Someone is typing . It irked her that she had only recently noticed that; she had become so comfortable chatting with her friend that she missed these essential clues, or else she would have questioned whether or not he was a living AI a long time ago. The only thing keeping her listening to him now was that there were only three AIs as far as she knew and none of them could hold up a real conversation. If he was a human AI, she would have seen through his behavior within weeks of meeting him.

She had also noticed he seemed a tiny bit autistic. He could do advanced physics and the math behind it in an instant. He could come up with theoretical science and possible hyper drives in seconds. Some autistic people could come up with whole blueprints in their head and remember it for months, so she hadn’t exactly questioned it. She had simply chalked that up to him being very smart.

_TheAllspark: I have sent it._

_TheIronMaiden: When can I expect it to arrive?_

_TheAllspark: Soon._

The internet had been a huge shield around the true identity of _CubicMetrons,_ aka _TheAllspark_. She couldn’t see the man’s face so she could never question whether or not he was even a man. She was lucky she had never thought to ask to meet him in real life.

It was almost like they hadn’t connected over anything but Transformers over the last year. It felt wrong, like she should know him better than that or care about him more than just as a manufacturer of Transformer ideas.

But it wasn’t all that surprising. Most of her real life friends had gone to different states or ended up dead, and most of her boyfriends had pretty much done the same. She had no desire to get back into a relationship with anyone and felt satisfied enough to have a sister who still wanted to talk with her – even if she was on the other side of the United States.

Over the last year, she hadn’t felt like she had managed to make a deeper connection with this stranger. The last guy she had met over the internet she had tried it with was an ex-boyfriend who had decided to break up with her on Christmas, one day before her birthday, through chatroom text. She had no hope for any kind of long lasting friendship with any online friend. Everyone had been relegated to “acquaintance” eventually, as someone who had occupied her time for a few short fun months, before moving on with their life for one reason or another.

She had hoped that he would be different. She always hoped she would meet someone who would be different. In hindsight, she would have better progress shooting herself in the foot. She had shared a lot about her self with him over the last year, specifically her past traumas and her obsession with Transformers, in the hopes of connecting with him. But he had shared nothing beyond his own interest in Transfromers, had shown no interest in sharing anything of his personal life.

Until now.

She just wasn’t expecting him to admit to being a giant intelligent alien cube.

But now her thoughts pulsed with an excitement that could only be born of a vain hope that her childhood heroes could be real. It was ridiculous; just because Transformers were real didn’t mean that there were two groups of robots, one supposedly good and one supposedly evil, caught up in a self-destructive war which started because of a lack of food, something which should take more precedence than a petty grudge because the current government and enemies of freedom chose someone else to be their figurehead, as if the government’s opinions are what actually matter to the people who want that freedom.

It was too much.

Except her friend had only ever talked about the characters, about the Autobots and Decepticons, as if they were real. Albeit, worded in such a way that it sounded like he was asking or answering “What if…” questions.

_TheIronMaiden: How much of it is real?_

_TheAllspark: The war is real. Optimus Prime is real. Megatron is real._

_TheIronMaiden: How did it start?_

_TheAllspark: Someone died._

_TheIronMaiden: Who?_

_TheAllspark: Someone very important, and who you’ve never heard of before. In the end, it doesn’t matter. The war happened and is happening, and the consequences have been felt all throughout the universe. I need someone who can help undo this damage, and there is no better person that I can think of than you._

She should have felt special. All she could think about was that her sister would have made a better choice. Her sister was smarter and wiser, all the things that the Autobots and Decepticons would need in a leader that could encourage the end the war. Sure, it would take a lot of time to do it that way, but her sister had the patience for it.

If Mercy did it, she would have the war end within a vorn, at the most, with a whole lot more dead mechs joining however many had already died in the war. She wasn’t someone who twiddled her thumbs when work needed to be done, and she was far more aggressive than the average transformer fan. She was also emotionally stable and used to dealing with trauma, so whatever she ended up doing wouldn’t traumatize her so much as her sister. Her sister hadn’t seen anyone die before her eyes, or had to suffer years of guilt for a death that hadn’t actually been her fault but she still believed she could have prevented had she been taller and stronger.

_TheAllspark: I need you to end this war as quickly as possible and then to restore Cybertron, just as quickly, so that I can be repaired when I am returned to it._

_TheIronMaiden: How would I return you to Cybertron? We don’t have the technology._

_TheAllspark: You’re not going to return me to Cybertron. I will send you to Cybertron, and others will be responsible for finding me and taking me back._

Like the Autobots. Like her sister.

She was going to be one cog in this grand plan. It was almost a relief knowing that not everything depended on her, but that relief died quickly. She would be responsible for the most important aspects of the Allspark’s plan: the end of the War and the restoration of planet Cybertron.

Her grades, her work ethic, even the death of her childhood friend, led her to one inescapable fact. But she couldn’t say it. To say it would be an admission of guilt, of being responsible for something she couldn’t be responsible for because she had been too small and too weak to close a massive, heavy, crooked gate. A kid is not responsible for not doing something she couldn’t physically do.

But could she really turn down the opportunity to help her heroes, an alien race, survive a horrible war?

_TheIronMaiden: How do you know that I can do this?_

_TheAllspark: Because only you can understand what you’re fighting against._

Mercy grimaced and leaned back in her chair until she was staring at the bubbly white ceiling, wondering if he was purposefully being obtuse or if he was actually trying to make a point.

Could she understand what the Autobots, Decepticons, and Allspark had been through? Could she put herself in their proverbial shoes?

Yes, but that hardly seemed relevant to stopping in the war. The real issues were no longer based in the original problems that started the war: either side could easily save Cybertron once it’s been conquered since all they needed to do was start importing energon and other resources from resource rich worlds off planet.

The real issue was getting both sides united so that the war could end. There were several simple ways to do this: have an enemy so massive that both sides have to be forced to help each other in order to prevent themselves and the planet from going extinct. If Unicron was real, it would be a simple matter of convincing both sides that he should be destroyed for the sake of Cybertron. If the Quintessons were real, it would be a simple matter of convincing everyone that they’re only interest was turning all Cybertronians into their slaves. If neither of them were real, then she could create one, either by turning the Insecticon army against them or manufacturing a planet of drones to antagonize both sides and force them to fight said drones in order to regain their planet.

Regardless, every single way would result in mass death, and there were some characters that she didn’t have the heart to kill. Thundercracker, Knockout, Jazz, Ratchet, Soundwave’s minions, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Slipstream, Chromia, Firestar, and so on and so forth. She would have to make exceptions.

If any of them were real.

_TheIronMaiden: Is every character… real?_

_TheAllspark_ : _Yes, but they may not be as you remember them._

_TheIronMaiden: That’s as good as saying none of them are real._

_TheAllspark: Every Transformer character exists but it would be like they are in an alternate universe. Characters like Jazz are still smooth and charismatic cool dudes in this universe as they are in your fantasies and they still go by that name. However, their histories are very different._

_TheIronMaiden: So this is like an AU._

_TheAllspark: It’s the_ _same basic idea, yes, but these are the originals. All of your fantasies_ _are_ _AUs of historical content. Like Abraham Lincoln being a vampire hunter._

_TheIronMaiden: So characters like Jazz could be secretly Decepticon spies?_

_TheAllspark: Or, for example, Jazz and Meister are two separate individuals._

_TheIronMaiden: Meister isn’t canon._

_TheAllspark: Technically neither are the Cartoons or Comics or Movies._

In other words, anything goes. Her favorite character, Prowl, could be the ninja from the Animated Series rather than the former Enforcer, Second-In-Command, and Head of Tactics from the comics. And she really preferred the later, which was strange considering her general distaste for authority figures. Plus his character was ruined for every other series because apparently writers kept forgetting there was a reason he was Second-in-Command and that all the Autobots who punched him in the face would be Court Marshall under any real military legal system regardless of moralistic reasons for why they punched him because they were in the middle of a fucking war and Prowl was the goddamn _Second-In-Command_ of the entire goddamn army. And a Prowl who was not Second-in-Command and was just a one-note ninja who only cared about self-improvement wasn’t worth even thinking about. At least in some amazing fanfics, ex-Enforcer Prowl wasn’t a total asshole, at least for the stories where he was on good terms with Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, and Jazz. She wasn’t sure if she liked the idea of Prowl being anyone other than the Prowl she liked, and would probably end up treating this other Prowl as that random background character who changed his name to Dent.

So the characters could be completely different from those she liked. Great. But that wasn’t the only reason to become a Transformer. She could become responsible for ending the Autobot and Decepticon war. She could transform into monsters, dragons, animals, and vehicles.

She hated that she was resorting to thinking about basic physical attributes to convince herself to help the Autobots and Decepticons, and that it was working, because they honestly deserved a lot more respect than that. She shouldn’t only care about the Transformers because becoming one would be awesome.

But what _other reason_ did she have to help?

_TheIronMaiden: Why me?_

_TheAllspark: Because you’re the only one who can._

And what exactly was that supposed to mean?

Because she _wasn’t._ She literally _couldn’t be._ There were hundreds of thousands of other people who could actually make a difference. Natural-born leaders, activists, and commanders, with a strong sense of morals and a strong grasp of how people think, and there was probably a small percentage of those people who were huge fans of the series and loved the transformers regardless of how many times they were rebooted for no reason. There had to be at least a few of these people who had actually done something amazing in their life.

Maybe she was giving the silent majority too much credit, like politicians who were desperate to keep believing they were in the public’s favor.

She kind of felt terrible; if it was all true and she was their last best hope for peace, she really did feel pity for the entire Cybertronian race. She spent her whole life wanting to write books but when she graduated from college, she could only write fanfiction. She had lost all meaning and hope in her life after being dragged through the proverbial coals for literally two decades and suffering PTSD for various things that weren’t her fault and could have been prevented had certain authorities used their brains or tried to actually make a difference. Now, she was an alien race’s last best hope for survival? It was enough to make her actually cry.

Because there really had to be a better choice out there. Somewhere.

And this guy had already given up on the rest of humanity and chosen her instead. Fucking A.

_TheIronMaiden: So, tell me your story. How/when did you come to Earth?_

_TheAllspark: I was jettisoned from Cybertron during the war. Optimus Prime feared that the Decepticons would find me and use me to create life for their armies. My trajectory brought me here. I was damaged when I crashed on the_ _surface, and I accidentally destroyed the surface of your planet thousands of years ago._

_TheIronMaiden: Thousands? Don’t you mean millions?_

_TheAllspark: You organic creatures can adapt faster than your scientists have led you to believe._

_TheIronMaiden: You mean evolve?_

_TheAllspark: No. I mean adapt. Your DNA already contains all the codes necessary for survival. Epigenetics. Only when you loose bits of your DNA do you lose necessary codes for future survival and are less likely to survive a meteorite landing on your planet._

_TheIronMaiden: You imply we are of intelligent design._

_TheAllspark: You are._

_TheIronMaiden: By whom?_

_TheAllspark: The lost lights. When I crashed on this planet, I was damaged. I lost some of the sparks I have been entrusted with. They roamed freely upon your planet as lost lights, influencing the development of your planet. They constructed for themselves the complete DNA sequence using the knowledge they possessed on the fundamental base code of the universe itself, and began encouraging life to grow larger and stronger in an attempt to find the correct body shape for themselves. They began possessing some of the more rapidly adapting creatures over the generations, those that would become apes. It took centuries, but eventually, they created intelligent bipedal creatures that look similar to Cybertronians. However, due to time and your own biological tendency to forget things, you eventually lost the knowledge that allowed you to become yourselves in the first place._

_TheIronMaiden: So… we are our own gods._

_TheAllspark: Hardly. A god has the power to create and control universes. You are scientists who constructed your bodies in a lab that was already teaming with raw material necessary to create them. You did not control the weather, the world, and everything else that helped to shape your bodies into bipedal forms._

_TheIronMaiden: Okay, okay. Do you know if you wiped out the dinosaur_ _s_ _?_

_TheAllspark: I suppose._

_TheIronMaiden: Was Megatron going to use you to create more sparked mecha for their army?_

_TheAllspark: No. Megatron had hoped that he could use my energy source to restart life on Cybertron and put it on the path to restoration. He had no intentions of using newsparks for his army, though that would have inevitably happened as he became more desperate to have an edge over the Autobots. However, it was farther down the line than_ _Optimus Prime believed._

_TheIronMaiden: You state facts. How can you be certain that is how things would have happened?_

_TheAllspark: I know the sparks of humans and machine. I am but one source for them, but mine come from the true source._

_TheIronMaiden: Sparks are souls?_

_TheAllspark: All sparks come from the Well. All souls are sparks, but are smaller and malnourished. If a Cybertronian came upon this world, they would be horrified to find so many sparks so close to flickering out. It is horrifying, but it is also necessary._

_TheIronMaiden: What do you mean? Flickering out just means they go back to you._

_TheAllspark: Yes. A spark flickering out disburses. The energy is still coded for the spark so it naturally gravitates to the largest source of spark energy available. All those sparks that flicker out on Earth come to me, but because I cannot hold them they eventually return to the next human body that is available. It happens roughly once a vorn, such a small fraction of what its lifespan should be._

_TheIronMaiden: I supposed that would be horrifying to a race that can live basically forever._

_TheAllspark: The Transformers can live for however long they have the energy sustain their sparks. Humans do not gain much energy from their own bodies._

_TheIronMaiden: But the sparks reconstitute in you. Are they restored to_ _themselves again when they return to you?_

_TheAllspark: Yes. Every spark that leaves the Well remains itself._

_TheIronMaiden: Is the Well Primus?_

_TheAllspark: Primus is the first complete spark. When all sparks return to the Well, we will become Primus once more but also as ourselves. It is like if you turned a metal ball into ball bearings and instead of melting them back together, you just put them all into the same container. We are the same but not the same._

_TheIronMaiden: Why would Primus do this?_

_TheAllspark: All sentient and sapient have been made in Primus’ image._

_TheIronMaiden: Cool._

Mercy didn’t know what else to say to this. All her questions were being answered but it felt unsatisfying. It was enough to make her get up and prepare for bed. She gave him her typical goodnight and then left. She dreamed of something completely unrelated. She felt lost and confused.

Why her? She almost couldn’t believe that it was happening. No, she couldn’t believe it could happen to her. After all, nothing had really happened yet. She had no real evidence that anything she had heard so far was true.

She really needed to just move on. She needed to actually spend time writing her books instead of doing nothing. She shouldn’t be letting this promise to awaken her childish mindset. She needed to grow up, but she hated the idea of it.

There were too many disappointing adults in the world, people who should already know what it means to act responsibly yet who constantly tried to pretend certain things weren’t their responsibility or that they had to be tricked or treated in order for them to achieve happiness just by being responsible. Growing up, in reality, was not pretending the world owed you something after graduating from school you didn’t ask for. She did not want to become the adult that leeched off the government and pretend they didn’t have a house so they could beg for goodies from passing strangers who should have more important things to worry about than what basically passes for the modern street rat. It was disgusting.

Yet, she hated being so bitter about it all the time. The world sucked. That wasn’t new information. Everyone understood how crappy the world was and she was only adding to the bad side of things with her negative attitude. She needed to sit down, meditate, and just focus on fun things like writing fantasy adventures in some far off world that didn’t have these problems, where the heroes could be epitomes of virtues and villains were worse than Hitler and always ended up dying. No more gray and gray morality that made you question what the hell morality was even supposed to be.

Though she supposed asking for stark black and white morality was being childish and irresponsible because life wasn’t like that. What was the point of writing escapism if people kept complaining that it was escapism?

And suddenly she was reminded why she didn’t want to write anymore.

She grabbed her tall black BEEOTCH mug with the yellow and black cameo on the side and raced down to make herself from hot chocolate and added enough black cherry rum that it tasted like liquidized chocolate cherry. It sounds grosser than it actually is. When she had gone back upstairs to her white chair, the doorbell rang.

Her thoughts immediately jumped to the proof the Allspark was talking about and she was racing downstairs like it was an Olympic race. When she yanked the heavy iron front door open, a small brown box about four inches wide, six long, and one tall greeted her. The mailman was already gone.

She slowly picked up the box and checked around the porch for anything else but there was nothing. The door slammed shut behind her as she weighed the package carefully in her hand. It was heavy, like whatever inside was made out of metal.

The waybill said it was Portland, Oregon.

She expected it to come from a crazy fan, the kind deluded into thinking they were the Allspark. It made no sense; the man she knew had a personality that was too autistic to be able to fall for fantastical delusions. Those kind of people don’t really have imaginations, and therefore delusions. He could calculate the hypotenuse of a right triangle in a heartbeat, give accurate statistics on population without checking the internet first, and was capable of calculating the distance between planets purely by the intensity of the star. He was fairly accurate with the small stuff, and she couldn't question his ability to calculate the big stuff.

This was like a slap in the face. A bucket of cold water. It was hugely disappointing and she hadn't even opened the box.

She put it on her desk and stared at it. She couldn’t describe what she felt. It was very close to disappointed indifference, the kind of feeling that comes over someone when they’re watching a movie and realize how it’s going to end before they’re even ten minutes into it. She couldn’t bring herself to believe anything fantastical waited in the box.

But she had the box now and it wasn’t opened yet. She pulled out her letter opener and slashed it across the tape. She peeled back the tabs and yanked out the non-descript invoice. She half-expected to see the name of the original company on it, like Amazon or something, but it was blank except for the content list and her address. No price tag, either.

The sharp bing told her that her friend was online.

_TheIronMaiden: It's here._

She went back to the box. Inside was a box that perfectly fit the brown box. It had a clear lid and a white bottom, and it contained a beautiful heavy gunmetal silver watch with a small metal computer replacing the round face. It reminded her of an Apple watch, except heavier like most of her jewelry. It was intricately carved with symbols that were basically circles within circles, half-circles and full circles, thick and thin circles, in a complicated alien pattern that looked almost like the Allspark's design from the movie. Except that design had more circuit-like designs involved, like someone from the design department in that movie had looked at a motherboard and decided to pick and choose what they'd add to the Allspark’s design pattern. But t his wasn't even like crop circles. They were literally perfectly carved circles with deep, thin furrows in the metal that had to be carved by a needle-tipped machine. She tried to find a similar looking watch online but there was no "Allspark watch" to look at. There was the Decepticon watch from the movie and a whole bunch of random toys, but nothing like the heavy metal jewelry in her hand.

This was specifically made for her.

_TheAllspark: Do you like it?_

_TheIronMaiden: I've always wanted a watch._

That was the end of that conversation, in her mind. This wasn’t evidence. It wasn’t even a consolatory prize. It was a gift from one friend to another, and it made her want to hide in her bed all over again. The world was cruel and unkind.

But she stayed and put the watch aside.

_TheIronMaiden: What does it do?_

_TheAllspark: It will transform you._

_TheIronMaiden: Into a transformer?_

_TheAllspark: Yes._ _All you have to do is touch the metal._

Touch the watch, she would become a transformer. Touch the watch, and it could reveal everything to be a lie. A simple choice.

_TheIronMaiden: What exactly do you want me to do? I cannot repair you._

_TheAllspark: I will send you to Cybertron after I rejuvenate your spark so that you can save it._

_TheIronMaiden: What about ending the war?_

_TheAllspark: That is not as important as restoring Cybertron._

_TheIronMaiden: Okay. HOW do I restore Cybertron?_

_TheAllspark: I am very confident that you will be able to figure it out for yourself._

In other words, once she achieved her final form, she was on her own.

 _Only I can do this_ , she thought, suddenly suspicious. _Only I can figure it out._

_TheIronMaiden: You don’t know how to restore Cybertron, do you?_

_TheAllspark: My programming is to contain and rejuvenation certain sparks before they can pass on to the Well._

_TheIronMaiden: What kind of sparks?_

_TheAllspark: Yours. Theirs. Anyone who was once a Knight of Cybertron, who sacrificed themselves for the betterment of Cybertron._

_TheIronMaiden: Everyone who was in the war?_

_TheAllspark: Yes._

The entire human race, every single soul, were the victims and martyrs of the Cybertronian war.

_TheIronMaiden: How far we’ve all fallen._

_TheAllspark: Indeed. It is unfortunate. There are many souls who have lived their second life here who will be returning to the source instead of to me. They have already forgotten their past as martyrs and heroes, and will continue to devolve. Their souls have suffered enough; eternal rest is a small gift to the weary._

_TheIronMaiden: Assuming they don’t just all go to hell anyway. I’m just sorry that Optimus Prime was the one responsible for this, though considering who he is in the franchise I would not be surprised if learning this would actually make him feel more responsible for Earth and it’s potential destruction, if Megatron does plan to destroy them._

_TheAllspark: More than likely the Decepticons will simply turn the humans into minicons and eventually force them to join their army. What Optimus Prime feared when he sent me into space can very easily happen here if Megatron finds this place._

_TheIronMaiden: Then should I stay here and protect this planet?_

_TheAllspark: The humans can protect themselves. Besides, their life is unnatural. It is only a matter of time before they self-destruct. Will you help me?_

Mercy had always imagined that Earth would become so overpopulated that it would run out of available resources. The governments of the world would be pressured into doing something about it, whether that meant they would push to leave the planet, annihilate entire countries to make room for their own people, or unite to form one government of Earth. She would not be surprised if it was the latter.

She couldn’t imagine staying behind. She was already seeing all three of those futures play out before her as modern humans grew more violent the less they had to do. Humanity’s advancements in technology was only making them more repressed, encouraging them to trade real socialization for online socialization. Part of Mercy’s own problems was the fact that she had no trust for strangers and preferred the safety of the internet to “going out” with people from work.

But staring at the watch reminded her of childhood, yearning to go to war so she could have the same adventures she’d seen in the cartoon. Her mother had told her no, and on some level she was grateful. Out of all the bad decisions her mother had made, preventing her from going to war had not been one of them. Child Mercy had no idea what was in store for her.

_TheIronMaiden: Have you asked anyone else to do this for you?_

_TheAllspark: No. I have risked a lot just trying to contact you. I know your spark; I housed you for centuries. I do not believe you have changed that much in the time you have been gone. Our brief interaction has only strengthened my belief in you. Besides, I cannot send too many to Cybertron in this way. It would attract too much unwanted attention and put Earth in danger._

_TheIronMaiden: And you in danger. You’re right, too many would be self-defeating. Why only one?_

_TheAllspark: Because if I sent back more than one, my enemies would attack Cybertron. I will send you as a signal beacon to Cybertron. To anyone too far away from you, you will appear as just a signal carrying my energy signature. They will not detect your spark signature underneath it and won’t realize what I am planning. However, if I send another one, they may be more alert to my signal and try to trace it back to you. I only want those who are willing to save me and protect Earth to come here, not those destined to destroy._

Like the Decepticons, if the cartoons were to be believed. She was going to have to learn about them all over again, like watching through another reboot cartoon series.

She was the only chance the Allspark had. The only one the Allspark trusted.

Her heart stirred and slowly swelled, and a thick cloud of emotion threatened to overwhelm her and make her start crying. She had never really grasped what it was like to have someone who had faith in her. She sucked in a breath and fought the thick emotions back down.

_TheIronMaiden: My sister is a great person, Allspark. If there is anyone on this planet that could defend it and make peace with the Autobot, it is her. If you do not feel the same, then all I ask is that you protect her and ensure she lives a long, happy life._

_TheAllspark: I promise._

_TheIronMaiden: Then I will help you._

This was it. She was taking on this responsibility and abandoning everything that she had ever known. She felt like someone had blocked all the doors in her mind leading towards her potential future as a popular human being. But, somehow, it was like the world didn’t matter anymore.

 _I’m going to start over,_ she thought _, and this time I’m not going to be a weak, frail failure. This time, I’m going to do it right._

She pulled off the lid, slowly and deliberately. It felt like the world was standing still. Her hand touched the watch and a jolt of purplish-blue lightning zapped her finger. Her arm was tingling. Her body was heating up, as if someone was pouring hot chocolate straight into her veins. She could feel her heartbeat starting to slow down. The screen came on. An image of a rotating gold insignia flashed through her mind.

Then she was looking up at herself from the perspective of the watch. She saw her own head fall back into the chair, eyes staring lifelessly up at the ceiling.

Then there was nothing.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cybertronian Standardized Time:  
> Astrosecond = .454 seconds  
> Klik = 1.14 minutes; 150 astroseconds in a klik  
> Breem = 7.96 minutes; 7 kliks in a breem  
> Groon = .929 hours; 7 breems in a groon  
> Joor = 6.5 hours; 7 groons in a joor  
> Orn = 13.5 days; 50 joors in an orn  
> Decaorn = 135 days; 10 orns in a decaorn  
> Decivorn = 8.32 years; 22.5 average decaorns in a decivorn  
> Quartex = 20.8 years; 56.25 average decaorns in a quartex  
> Vorn = 83.21 years; 225 decaorns in a vorn.  
> Decade = 832.1 years; 10 vorns in a decade.
> 
> Distance:  
> Hix = ~6.63 miles; 7000 metrons in a hix; 10 vuns in a hix  
> Vun = ~0.63 mile; 700 metrons in a vun  
> Metron = 5 feet; 1/7000 of a hix, 1/700 of a metron  
> Micron = 0.66 inches; 1/7 of a metron

The Allspark.

It was hard to wrap her head around the idea that she had known the Allspark for a whole year, and for so long that she considered him a friend. How else could she explain what just happened to her?

She was tossed into a world of total darkness, feeling vaguely like all her insides had been scooped out. She couldn't see or hear anything. She couldn't even feel the wind on her skin.

Who knows how long she was stuck there, waiting for something to happen. But then something did happen. What were the odds?

He was small and at the very edge of sensation itself, tightly contained in a small body. That was the impression she had of him. But he was also shocked and surprised and happy to see her.

Happy… She couldn't remember the last time she had allowed herself to feel happy. The emotion was a lie. No one could ever be happy, because no one could ever be satisfied. Romance was a lie, friendship was a lie, so by extension so was happiness.

The emotion, so potent, poured out of him in waves. He was happy to see her. He was _satisfied_ to see her.

And she felt so naked, so exposed, because she couldn't really emote back at him. She couldn't feel happy right now, couldn't feel anything, because she had nothing but him in her vision. She couldn't even feel curiosity because he was so visible, so known, that there were no secrets between. She knew everything about him except his language. She couldn't speak to him.

Then he was gone, as quickly as she had arrived in his life, swallowed up by the darkness. She suddenly hated the darkness and reached out, as if she had limbs, searching for him. He was well and truly gone.

It probably wasn't even his fault. She was big, he was small, and she had been moving very quickly. The fact that they had been together for so long was a testament to her own size. How did she grow so huge? Maybe she was normal and he was micro-sized. Yes, he was probably a microbot.

But she ached for him. Ached to feel that satisfaction and happiness flow out of him, reminding her of those forgotten feelings.

 _Don't be a leech_ , she chastised herself, disgusted. _Find your own damn happiness._

The ache was quickly forgotten. She slammed into an empty body and her world exploded into pain _._

* * *

ACCESSING MEMORY BANKS…  
ERROR FOUND.  
MEMORY BANKS ARE CORRUPTED.  
REPROGRAMMING REQUIRES MEDICAL BYPASS.  
SEARCHING FOR MEDICAL BYPASS…  
MEDICAL BYPASS ACCEPTED.  
PROCESSING…

* * *

She was watching the world move her by. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling, but there was some dissonance. It was different from standing at a window and watching the hundreds of thousands of Iacons moving around on the streets below. It was more like she was at a movie theater, watching a documentary for the first time, but with her body glued to the chair and her eyelids refusing to close.

She was a prisoner in her own body, watching someone else's life, yet simultaneously she was feeling her body move and act as if under her own command.

She looked up and realized she was in her office in Iacon. The ring of small blue lights glowed overhead with the power of spotlights, making the shadows almost as black as the sky. Her datapad was a simple glass, with alien text that she could almost understand if she concentrated hard enough. It was a report she was working on, a political essay designed to help one of the Senators deal with the growing energon crisis.

 _Not that any of them actually listen to me_ , she thought sorely. _They think because they've been here longer than I have that they are somehow smarter than me, but they've proven incapable of handling any situation with any form of competence. I am the only one here who is actually trying to stop the planet from dying!_

The door chime warbled at her. Why do Cybertronians have electric _everything_ if a small fraction of their population was starving? Truly, the elites were living in the lap of luxury. She couldn't count how many had already died because the Senate refused to compromise on anything.

She tapped the far left corner of her desk. "Come in."

The door hissed open. Three Elite Guard members stormed into her room. The first among them had a gold stripe down the center of his helm, marking him as a lieutenant. He raised his datapad and she stared uncomprehending at the text covering the whole screen.

She spoke slowly, an echoing thread of terror in her being. "What is the meaning of this?"

"You are being transferred out," said the mech, as if he was announcing someone's execution.

She slowly rose to her pedes. "I have served the Senate faithfully for _centuries_. Why would they do this to me?"

"These are our orders," replied the guard, but if it was an apology it was lost in the sheer tiredness in his tone. As if he had walked out so many mecha and it no longer mattered to him why he never knew why they were being walked out.

But the answer was really obvious. Someone had been created who might serve her function better, or her function had become irrelevant, or they had just found someone they liked who could fit her role adequately enough. It really didn't matter why, only that she had outlived her usefulness.

She kept herself composed, not because of self-control but because of denial. There had been a mistake, and there was still time for someone to realize this. She walked out in a daze, escorted by the silent guards, and into the familiar hallways which had become almost like a second home to her.

_What have I done to deserve this?_

"Ah, Ferreus," said one of her friends, but he stopped when he noticed her escort, his optics going so pale it was almost white. He didn't say another word and just watched as they turned the corner out of sight.

Most everyone else didn't even bother to look at her. With every new mech she saw, the feeling of dread grew.

_What can I do?_

The only thing she could do. She had to fight. If she fought and fought well, they might find some other function for her.

They might send her to the Pits.

* * *

ERROR FOUND.  
MEMORY FILES HAVE BEEN CORRUPTED.  
SKIPPING TO NEXT COMPLETE MEMORY.  
PROCESSING…

* * *

"She's too small to be a serious competitor," growled the arena headmaster, staring down at her like she was a drone instead of a living breathing mecha.

She wanted to spit at him, but her mouth had been covered after she'd bit the guards. The lieutenant had almost been happy and excited to see her taken away to the pits. That just made her want to bite him again, preferably somewhere intimate.

_Why don't more mecha fight?_

She wanted nothing more than to go back and just fight the lieutenant before she had even left the office. Maybe then she would have kept her job, instead of being transferred from the Smelters to the Pits. There really wasn't much of a difference between the two, except the latter ensured you had a chance to live longer. If she had escaped earlier, she might have been able to find a home in the Black Market.

Now she had to worry about fighting others. There were so many miners already in the Pits and she was only a Praxian minibot. What could she do against them? The Smelters might have been a quicker death.

_But now there's a chance I might live._

"Give her to the Alpha," said the arena headmaster dismissively, like she was a piece of slag clinging to the edge of the incinerator.

Her spark sank.

* * *

ERROR FOUND.  
MEMORY FILES HAVE BEEN CORRUPTED.  
SKIPPING TO NEXT COMPLETE MEMORY.  
PROCESSING…

* * *

She heard a familiar noise nearby. Metal shifting over rusted rust. She snapped awake and jumped out of her berth, defense systems activating automatically. She felt confident in the powerful roll of her joints and shift of her armor, the control she had over every little movement.

It took her too long to realize that even though her systems said her arm was a canon, it had not transformed into a canon. She was holding out her arm and propping it up, her fingers loose, like she had just dramatically handed someone a bottle of wine instead of tried to shoot the first thing she saw. She lowered her arm, disgusted and annoyed with life all over again.

 _Should I have expected something different?_ a confused part of her wondered. _Why should I expect my arm to transform into a canon?_

It had been vorns since she had been thrown out of Senate. It was still so unclear why she was even here but she had a few theories. Theories she couldn't confirm because no one escaped the Pits.

She had been given to the Alpha as a plaything, a reward for services rendered. But the Alpha had seen something in her, something valuable which caused him to not do that. She thought it was the shared burning hunger for revenge that had taken over their life and turned them both into triggerhappy gladiators.

_If only I could escape this wretched place..._

Her gaze swept the room; she was standing in a cell with walls made of solid metal, listening to the distant and muffled cheer of a crowd. Her cell was about the same size as her bedroom, with three metal platforms to act as berths attached to each wall. Two small cheap recharging machines were stuffed into the corner, ancient and rusting, with coils that lit up faintly with rings of bright pink energon. A wall of blindingly bright pink energon bars separated her from a hallway that stretched off to the right and left of her cell. 

_What a waste of perfectly good energon_ , she thought, feeling suddenly hungry. It was a constant background noise to her new life, something she had started to ignore after the first vorn of being the Alpha's plaything.

"Still trying to deactivate early, are we?"

She whipped around, activating her defense systems only to remember they wouldn't activate. Couldn't activate. She took a heartbeat too long to recognize the voice - and the mech sitting on the berth she had just launched herself off of.

_Speak of the Alpha and who shall appear?_

He was silvery gray, massive and built like a tank, with smudges and scuffs all over his body. His helm was shaped like an upside down bucket with a wide brim. A part of her wouldn't have been able to recognize him without it. His lips twisted up into a smirk and his optics glowed red. He suddenly leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, so all the lines of his body drew her gaze to his center. It was a trick he had learned to accentuate his greatest asset.

"I can help you with that, and I'll be a whole lot nicer than those bars."

She huffed, but still glanced down at his exposed port, which was still open, revealing the very tip of his spike. It was a dark silvery blue shaft of metal with light blue energon lines running between the seams. She oogled at it for a long moment, a part of her wishing to have another ride on his huge member.

"We've already had our fun, Megatron," she responded, tearing her gaze away to look at his smirking faceplate. "What brought this on?"

He tilted his helm at her, and gave her a look that seemed to ask how serious she was. "What brings any of us here?"

She could feel the frustration rolling off him and suddenly felt even more tired than normal. After the fun night they had, she was not in the mood for one of his rants. "Since you've donated some of your fluids to me, I'm gonna let that question slide. Get to the point."

Megatron straightened, and she heard the soft click of his port closing. He still didn't have his codpiece on, the forgotten dark gray metal resting on the berth to her left.

"Many mecha who can no longer serve their function wind up here or terminated," he said, as if imparting grave news she'd never heard before. He was still being dramatic about it. He gestured to her and then at himself. "We're the lucky ones. We owe it to those who have come before us to make sure no one follows after us."

"I doubt the dead really care about that kind of thing, Megatron," she responded blithely. "We're only here because the Senate has decided we should suffer and the Council is too cowardly to say No."

"The Council has no real power, that's true," agreed Megatron. "But what if the Senate had no power at all?"

She remembered the Senators, knew each of them by name, could have recognized their spark signatures if she met them in new bodies. She felt a tiny bit of fear and awe; A part of her already knew what Megatron was talking about and knew exactly where Megatron was going with this.

"You're talking dangerously, Megatron." She had lowered her voice now as if worried the guards would hear her.

His optics darkened. "Ferreus, we're always talking dangerously. How is this any different?"

"Because you don't have the means to do what you want to do." She felt almost annoyed that he'd bring it up. "You are a gladiator. You _used_ to be a miner. What kind of connections do you have on the surface?"

"You. You used to be an adviser to the Senate." He tapped his helm. "You know how they think." He tilted his head. "Don't you want revenge?"

"Of course I want revenge," she said, feeling helpless, "but that isn't possible."

"Oh?" He raised an optic ridge.

"We have no power here. We would need to have followers first and foremost, preferably every other gladiator here. Then we'd need control over the Pits." She could see the gears turning in his helm. "Then we need mecha on the outside." She sighed. "Do you have any of these things?"

He shifted, leaning back on the berth with his hands at his side and completely exposing his closed port. "What if I told you I could get these things?"

She suddenly became defensive. "You're popular," she conceded, "but that doesn't automatically translate to power."

"I have made a connection to the outside," said Megatron cryptically.

"Me," she said dismissively.

Megatron smiled that knowing smile whenever he'd discovered something new and wanted to share. "And others."

A spark of hope filled her, threatening to make her believe, for a second, that there was a way out of this place.

"What do you say to that?"

"I would have to ask you to frag me," she growled, angry that he was getting her hopes up, "because I think my audials are deceiving me."

"Then join me, Praxian," said Megatron, lying back down. "And I'll show you what's real."

She jumped up onto him, straddling his hips. Despite his height and her height, she was almost as wide as he was, one of the perks of being a minibot. She expertly sank down until her exposed valve lined up with his port, the rims sucking and locking together pleasurably, almost magnetically linked. His port opened, the tip of his spike nosing up against her valve slit, pushing aside soft lubed malleable metal and sending sparks of pleasure through her nervous system.

Her vents started up.

His servo came up to rest on her hips. "You trust me, don't you?"

"I do."

He hummed. "I have a proposition for you, Ferreus. How would you like to help me put an end to the Senate's rule?"

The hope flared, briefly, mixed with the excitement of being fragged. She suddenly grabbed his arms as a jolt of electricity danced inside of her valve, running around his spike.

On one servo, if the Senate was gone, she would no longer have to be here to keep Megatron's energon stable. She would no longer be forced to fight with the minimal amount of energy needed, while he fought at full strength. She longed for the days when she could sit in an office all day, not afraid of being consumed by monsters waiting on the other side of a door. To be in control and to be listened to.

She leaned forward and let out a little gasp as his spike started to engorge inside of her, sending more sparks of electricity racing around inside of her valve channel.

She whispered in Praxish, " **Viva la revolution**."

Megatron smiled, a toothy and crooked smile with sharp shark-like teeth, as his red eyes glowed. "Welcome to the Decepticons, Ferreus."

* * *

ERROR FOUND.  
SOME FILES HAVE BEEN ERASED.  
RECONSTRUCTING…  
PROCESSING…

* * *

There was something wrong with this memory, and it wasn't just that the memory was some kind of reconstruction of its parts.

 _She_ was different. Her doorwings had been removed, her body wasn't silver and blue anymore, and she had new modifications. How long had it been? She couldn't remember getting the upgrades. She couldn't remember much of anything before this, even though she knew the Autobots and Decepticons had been fighting for a long time already.

What had happened to her?

After Megatorn started to use his newfound followers to take over the arena, he made a connection with Shockwave in the Senate. They'd both been transferred out. Ferreus as Shockwave's unofficial political adviser and Megatron as his official bodyguard. They'd both used the new position to spread their message. Fight back. Take back control.

She had learned about how she ended up in the Pits. Sentinel Prime had found promise in a young dataclerk. The Senate had wanted to satisfy the Prime so they had given up her position. She was still unsure if Shockwave had a servo in it.

It burned knowing she was expendable. Not because her skills were lacking or her loyalty was questionable but because they wanted to bend to the whim of a Prime so he would stay unaware of what went on behind the scenes. After everything she had done to help them choose Sentinel in the first place. It was betrayal of a level that could not be expressed. She hated-

She wanted desperately to tell Opronix Major all of this to his face just to see how he would react to it. That Sentinel Prime was responsible for everything that had happened to her. He was guilty by-

Logically, Opronix Major was not to blame for any of what had happened to her-

Sentinel Prime trusted the Senate too much because they happily pandered to his whims, which meant he was to blame for everything that had led up to the war. The sentimental dataclerk was only guilty of refusing to allow Sentinel Prime to be executed by Megatron for his crimes. If Megatron had had his way and Sentinel Prime had been killed in the arena-

It didn't make sense to her why Megatron would kidnap the Prime. Megatron was on the fast track to beocming a Lord of Cybertron, the first in over seven generations. Sentinel Prime had selected him for it. The two had problems with each other, yes, but Megatron had promised to do his best to save Cybertron and get energy from off world. Why then would Megatron kidnap Sentinel Prime and force him to go through the arena trials? Like he was angry? Like was he was grie-

Then Opronix Major, newly appointed Prime, rescued Sentinel. Rescued Sentinel from his well deserved fate.

But that was all going to change. Today, she was standing among her fellow Decepticons, looking out over a grayed out battlefield with black smoke billowing up towards the night sky and flashes of hell fire lighting up the jagged metal pieces sticking up out of the ground, revealing mechanical cables underneath. The air smelled of ozone and the harsh burn of metal, reminding her of the energon bars back in the arena's cell, reminding her of the cage she had been forced to occupy for vorns.

She liked the constant reminder of why she was out here.

"Commander Ste- Vo- Me- Rh- Ferreus?"

She turned to the Decepticon messenger, a racer with the standard black and purple Vehicon paintjob, a drone given a spark by Shockwave.

Who had he been before he had possessed that body?

Soundwave must be compromised. Why else would anyone send a messenger across the battlefield?

"Report," she growled.

She felt a touch of pride. Her voice had been modified to be rich and deep, reverberating throughout her own armor in pleasant, disturbing ways. Everyone around her tensed at the noise, their armor rattling against their will. Now mecha would listen to her, whether they wanted to or not.

"Megatron wants you to lead the charge."

Megatron. Ever since he had helped her get out of the arena, she had been starting to question his sanity. After Optimus Prime had prevented Sentinel's death, he'd become obsessed with killing the mech. To be honest, a part of her was fine with the change. It wasn't logical to complain about a leader who never had a chance to shine. She had to agree with Shockwave on that front. The only real issue for Ferreus was that Sentinel was still alive.

And that Shockwave was al-

"As Lord Megatron commands," she intoned, turning to her lieutenant. "Gather our squadron. We have to make it to the launch pad before the Elite Guard's Ark finishes the launch sequence."

There was no cheer, no hurrah. They were rushing it. Everyone gathered up their things without question, without a word, and marched with her into battle.

Around her, everything seemed dead, somehow, like she was walking across the surface of a massive gray-out frame and not a planet. She looked up and around her, momentarily not seeing the battle but the landscape underneath.

Iacon had once been a massive and beautiful city. When she served the Senate, she had a balcony overlooking much of the older parts which featured the tallest skyscrapers. They speared the dark rolling clouds, glowing with a rainbow iridescence.

_They took me from my home._

For one distracting moment, she was simultaneously in control of everything around her and yet watching from a great distance. Rage pulsed through her spark, lashing out around her until it caught some nearby spark and sent them reeling. She was in the darkness once more, another mirco-spark nearby, but this one was icy and cold and dangerous beyond all words. It didn't know her yet but it hated her. It's name was-

She refocused on the battlefield. Beneath them, the great walls of Iacon that had protected it long before the Cataclysm, dotted with statues of Sentinels long past, now lay broken and busted open beneath her pedes. Her tanks rolled uncomfortably at the sight of one of the ancient giant shuttleformer laying down at the foot of the wall, rusted over and dead long before the war. She couldn't have been taller than his pinkie.

_What happened to this place?_

Her gaze swept beyond the rubble to the transport platforms. They were half the size of the extraplanetary transport platforms in Staniz, but the ships on them were longer and wider and designed for deepspace flight.

Her gaze locked on the lead ship and the wave of Wreckers pooring out to face them. At their head was their white and blue commander, the one who looked almost exactly like Opronix Major. Ultra Magnus, wasn't it? He had tall shoulders, some pre-war modification he'd gotten since he'd been accepted into the Magnus House. 

He was standing between her and her enemy.

She pumped her fist into the air and roared. Her engine rumbled like thunder, causing the Decepticons around to pull away. She threw herself forward, transforming. It felt like her entire body was turning inside out, sending her non-existent stomach into her throught. Her underside scraped against metal for a second before her hover systems forced her up, her heavy rear covered in bristling weapons on top of two massive shoulder cannons.

She barreled towards Ultra Magnus, slowly picking up speed, as orange weapon fire peppered the ground around her. Her Energy Absorption Field flickered in gold wherever an energy bolt might have hit her. She bulldozed right past Ultra Magnus, her sensors sweeping the ship for someone specific.

Someone Prime-like.

She couldn't distract herself with the rabble. This was her last chance to kill Sentinel Prime before he disappeared into space forever. This is what Megatron wanted her to do, and what she wanted to do. What _Shockwave_ wanted her to do. The Decepticons were counting on her.

Why did she want to do what Shockwave wanted her to do? He was immaterial. All that mattered was revenge and the loss of a future where Cybertron could have been restored.

The shuttle loomed up in front of her, its orange nose pointed at the sky, as she took the one ramp that led up to the platform. Autobots fired down at her, but she wasn't afraid of them. She opened fire on them and bulldozed a few right off the ledge. But there were too many. Her EAS was threatening to overload from the amount of energy it was being forced to absorb, and she could feel the sting of what managed to get passed the barrier and the heavyness of her energon tanks. It wouldn't be long before she wouldn't be able to handle the weapon fire anymore.

A part of her knew she was going to end up dead and the dread rolled up form her tanks, threatening to come out the wrong end.

A part of her also knew that she was already dead.

Another part of her was just plain furious.

She pushed onward, engine roaring as she approached the open bay doors of the ship. It was like a long metal panel on the underside of the ship had completely flipped out, slanting up into the heart of the ship. A large blue and red Iacon transport mech leaped out of the shuttle bay, heading towards her. A black and gold Praxian enforcer reached out to stop him and yelled after him, but the transport kept coming. Behind him, a silver and black Polyhexian watched, a servo on his horn.

A part of her was shocked and disappointed. Prowl was black and gold? She never liked the Animated representation of him. She preferred a tactician who was serious about saving his fellow Autobots and Cybertron, not a ninja who only cared about meditation and self-improvement.

She fired her cannons at the Autobots, watching them scatter. Her shield flickered as mecha fired at the ground around her, trying to prevent her from getting closer. A dark blue Praxian speedster raced past, expelling a cloud of smoke which filled the battlefield. Ferreus transformed, her arm transforming into a metal sword.

Optimus Prime leaped out of the smoke, his orange axe cutting down. She slashed her blade up, catching the blade. He was easily over twice her size, but their strength was equal.

" **I'm not here for you,** _"_ she squeak-snarled.

_That wasn't any kind of Cybertronish._

Optimus Prime didn't hear her. She bashed his blade aside, earning an enraged grunt as she ducked out of reach of his swing. The blade faded slightly as it passed through her EAS and it nearly shattered. She cursed, throwing herself back into the smoke.

_If only I had echolocation, then I could see-_

She was momentarily confused. Cybertronians didn't really know about echolocation. The concept of using sound to map out areas was unheard of.

A part of her was confused as to why she was confused.

Another part of her was even more furious.

The roar of engines were all around her, but she concentrated on the other sounds, hoping that maybe she might be able to hear where her real enemy was. She couldn't stop moving, and she already had a basic idea of which direction to go to get to the ship. She picked a direction that seemed empty and leaped for it, transforming back into automode and driving around where Optimus Prime probably was.

She burst out of the smoke. Her weapons fired into the open bay doors, even as her sensors searched for her real target. The black and gold mech opened fire on her, his gold visor gleaming palely. She jerked away as the metal beneath her started to melt and hiss in a pool of acid.

The dark blue speedster raced towards her, slamming into her side and shoving her away from the Ark. Metal screeched against metal as she felt her armor slide and crumble. She used her hover thrusters to fight back against him, trying to throw him around so she could face the shuttle. When that failed, she transformed, cutting open the hovercar side with shifting shards of armor and sending him spinning away.

She slammed her pedes into the ground and stood up.

A big bulky black and red mech had appeared in the bay doors, looking down at the fighting with a serious gruff expression. Beside him was Sentinel Prime, the green and gold Iacon transport with too many modifications to name and the cape of his Primehood still drapped around his shoulders tastelessly.

"Optimus Prime!" shouted the older Prime.

Ferreus transformed and bolted, roaring towards the bay doors, engine snarling. She opened fire. Sentinel Prime made an impossible leap out of the shuttle bay, rolling down the slant and transforming into his transport mode. She slammed herself into full throttle, spinning to intercept.

Optimus Prime burst out of the smoke, his orange axe swinging. He saw the collision in progress and yelled in horror.

"Sentinel!"

She felt the acid on her armor, eating away at her weapons. She didn't swerve out of the way of the Prime, but headed straight for him, turning to shove her acid covered side into him.

 **"For Cybertron! _"_** said every part of her at once, the fury too much to contain.

Her spark lashed out, sending the microspark spinning out of reach before it suddenly disappeared.

A warning flashed across her vision; her spark chamber had been breached.

* * *

CANCELING SIMULATION…  
DELETING MEMORY CACHE…  
ERROR FOUND.  
UNABLE TO DELETE MEMORY CACHE.  
PROGRAM REQUIRES MEDICAL BYPASS.  
MEDICAL BYPASS ACTIVATING…  
ERROR FOUND.  
UNABLE TO RECOGNIZE MEDICAL BYPASS.  
CANCELING…  
SIMULATION CANCELED.  
UPDATING LOGS…  
REBOOTING…

* * *

Fury.

With the memories no longer replaying in her mind, she felt it like a boa constricter coiled around her spark. It fueled her, allowed her to reach out with EM field beyond what was normal from someone of her size. 

Two histories collided on the battlefield of her mind. The fury joined them together, listing a plethora of reasons as to why she was mad but they all sounded fake. For one, she had ended up dead at the hands of the Autobots and was a failure for not killing Sentinel when she had the chance. Yet she was not dead. Her spark chamber was not breached. For the other, she had been sent to Cybertron on a mission to restore it so that she could one day save the Allspark, her best friend. Then someone had grabbed her and given her fake memories.

Her processor ached. All her carefully contained emotions had been broken open, like a dam. The fury threatened to send her self-control plummeting out the nearest window. It felt like someone had literally broken open her head and laid out the pieces of her brain, then purposefully shoved them all back together again without a very critical circuitboard.

A heavy collar hung around her neck, sealed to base of her neck armor. It kept her EM field from reaching too far and it was a whole lot heavier than the one Ferreus had. Thicker and heavy duty, as if to block out more than just her normal EM field. Maybe it had been designed for a Sentinel.

She could control it if she concentrated hard enough, but she couldn't concentrate. The memories tumbled through her brain like clothes in a washer, and the fury coiled around her spark could only focus on the whys and wherefores.

_Why?_

The memories jumped to answer but she shoved them aside, even as her processor threatened to split in two. It hurt. But it hurt less when they were both ignored.

She forced her optics online and squinted painfully into the room. A ring of blue lights like tiny pinpricks glowed in the center of the ceiling, pale and faded, leaving the room mostly dark. As she adjusted her optics, the lights seemed to grow brighter and the shadows retreated like black stains on the floor until they were only seen if she looked under the medical equipment. 

All she had to think about was herself.

Ferreus and Mercy were two separate individuals in her mind, but both of them felt like her. They belonged to her. Had she been Ferreus in a past life? So much of her memories seemed right, somehow, like they were hers. Except that last one, which felt pieced together by someone else.

She had to patch it. Somehow.

 _Beep_.

Before she realized what she was doing, she had come to a stopped at the end of her cables. She was halfway off the medical berth with one pede on the floor.

The medical berth was a tall flat platform tilted up so a mech was almost standing. Thick black cables poured out of her body like waterfalls, connecting to various machines, and half of them connected to the ground. A large computer moniter on her right detailed a full analysis of her systems, still ongoing. A smaller computer screen in front of her gave another surly beep.

 _Ferreus' reflexes_ , she realized, slowly scanning the room for anymore surprises. _I need Mercy's control.  
_

When none showed up, she raised her arm, looking for a way to disconnect the cables without damaging the equipment. Whoever had repaired her was obviously a friend but her spark couldn't stand being contained. Her collar was already causing her serious claustrophobia issues, and she fought to keep from ripping the slagging thing off. It was important to preventing accidental bondings, said Ferreus' memories, whatever that meant.

She manually sorted through her memories, picking up the pieces and sorting them into three categories. Mercy and Ferreus came from different planets, so she could easily figure out which belonged to which. But there was a third category for the unknown. Edited memories that fit neither at any point during their life. Those most recent and ancient ones that predated Ferreus' creation day. It was hard to figure that out because of how much of her memories were degraded, like some of them had been rotting in her body before her spark had found it.

She was still sorting her memories out when the door hiss-clicked open. Her body tensed but she didn't launch herself out of the berth again.

A part of her half-expected Megatron to walk in and another part of her half-expected for a swarm of monsters to surge out to tear her apart. She could already see the silver lizard-like creatures racing towards her, their velociraptor-like muzzles crushing her arms, their short bodies whipping back and forth to throw her off balance, their short legs and stabbing claws tearing open her armor like a can opener.

She was suddenly on the edge of her cables, leaning hard against them, propped up by her legs so she was almost standing.

Her armor rattled as she let out a hard breath, studying the mech who had just walked in to distract herself from Ferreus' memories.

But the rattling reminded her of how inhuman she was. It felt inhuman. Like her skin was a whole bunch of plates that could lift up or slit apart to reveal the muscles and tendons underneath. Despite being made out of heavy metal, she felt more vulnerable than she'd ever been as a human. The cables keeping her armor separated wasn't helping matters.

"Are you malfunctioning?"

The tone was dead and emotionless. Her gaze dragged across the floor to land on the mech, the rest of her still like a predator about to pounce on its prey. She recognized him, finally, from Ferreus' memories. He was Senator Shockwave. He was mostly purple, with some light gray on his underarmor. He towered over her and had the bulky shoulder armor of a tank or transport. He had a hexagonal shaped head and a dark face-cavity that was filled with gold glass. She felt more like she was staring at a computer screen then the mech's face, but she could see the brighter yellow ring of light that indicated his single optic underneath. Optics which were windows to the spark underneath.

She watched him for what felt like a long kilk before she finally responded.

"Sorry, I must be having some kind of memory purge."

She tensed. Every one of Mercy's warning flags went off and Ferreus' own input wasn't much better. She'd misspoken. Decepticons don't say _Sorry_. It was a matter of pride for Decepticons to never say something so weak and pathetic. Apologies were given to mechs who couldn't toughen up and came from mechs who cared too much for their feelings. Fragging human mannerisms getting in the way of slag-

"It happens," said Shockwave neutrally.

She stared at him out of the corner of her vision for what felt like another long klik. Of course, Shockwave wouldn't care about mannerisms like that. He used to be a Senator, so naturally he would have a healthier method for dealing with it, rather than treating it like an insult or mockery.

Or maybe she had no idea how Decepticons really acted. Perhaps Ferreus' memories were fake.

_That's the second thing I need to figure out._

"What happened?" she asked cautiously.

"You were seriously damaged. We had to replace most of your hardware."

She let her gaze drift to the ceiling. She did not relax back into the berth. If the cables didn't keep her armor pushed aside, they'd be bristling the frag out of control. She finally growled out, "The Autobots won't find me so easy to beat next time."

"We are still missing some essential parts. Some other modifications were necessary."

She ran a quick diagnostics and tested her systems. "My doorwings?"

"We did not have the proper replacement parts."

_What about Praxus?_

The question came from both personalities. Praxus was destroyed by the Decepticons and there were plenty of dead mecha out there who hadn't rusted over completely. Shockwave could have used one set of doorwings from them. He must have had a reason not to.

"We had to make modifications to your transformation cog."

She wasn't an Enforcer class hovercar anymore. She was a triplechanger and a sizechanger. Her alternate modes were a planetary laser turret and a shuttle about the size of a Sentinel class. Strangely enough, the new alternate modes felt more right than the old one.

_Makes sense if I'm supposed to be Mercy under all this armor._

"I hope they meet your standards," Shockwave continued.

Her gaze flickered towards him, until she was staring at him out of the corner of her optic again. There was no reason to suspect that Shockwave didn't have his own reasons for doing this to her, but the modifications to her T-cog could have been given to her by the Allspark and not by him. "We'll just have to see what happens in the next battle, won't we?"

He made a quiet humming sound. "Indeed." He clicked a button. "You are free to leave."

The cables hissed and slammed into the berth. White smoke floated up from where they had disconnected. Her armor settled back into place, tightening over her weak points and settling around her hydraulics like scales. She stepped off the berth and felt like she had to fight every step to keep her balance.

The unfamiliar weight on her shoulders made her reach for the shoulder cannons. The two barrels would become the barrels of her laser cannons. It felt almost comforting to have them there, bristling and ready to annihilate anyone who stood in her way. Her thoughts turned to Shockwave.

"You better not have ruined my shoulder cannons in your little experiment."

"They have been upgraded."

"I'll be the judge of that."

And there were other modifications, some she remembered from the slapdash memory file. In turret mode, she had a her signature energy absorption field. In shuttle mode, she had all the amenities that a ship would need to travel, including a spacebridge, cloaking device, expanded subspace, and energy absorption field. The devices themselves were too large for her minibot rootmode so she couldn't use them in day-to-day practice. But the energy absorption field was a hers and Ferreus'. It was designed to only need a few extension to work in her larger modes, just so the EAS would be able to cover her entire ship form at full size.

If she used all her modifications at the same time in her current body, the stress of having that much working at once would run her energon dry and extinguish her spark.

The idea of traveling through space made her feel sick. Why couldn't she have a better alternate mode, something more versatile like a dragon?

 _Why a shuttle?_ She wondered, but who wouldn't want their shuttle to have all the special modifications if they ever needed it to escape the stratosphere?

Did he expect her to be loyal to him and serve as his only exit if Cybertron fell?

The answer was yes.

"Can I go now?" she asked, bored.

She had no idea if she should be complaining, if it was normal for a Cybertronian – especially a Decepticon – to hate unwanted upgrades, or if Decepticons expected upgrades to happen regularly even without their consent. Maybe to them it was like getting surgery for a gaping wound, though it felt to her more like plastic surgery. She decided to label the whole situation as fragged up. Ferreus made no comment on the issue, but then again she was dead and her memories were severely damaged.

 _He's dead_ , she silently corrected herself.

"Note that you have been promoted to my Second-in-Command. The mecha who previously occupied that position all failed to keep everyone in line. I am sure you will not make the same mistakes." He stared at her meaningfully. "Your datapad has been updated with all relevant information."

A threat. Her armor rose and rattled in defiance even though the _Mercy_ in her wanted to dip her doorwings in apology, like some meek sheep. Ferreus didn't move a single cable.

"You know where the officer's quarters are."

She accepted the dismissal and stormed out the door.


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mercy makes plans as her rage threatens to boil out of control.

Ferreus remembered a world of constant light and noise, but the tower of Darkmount was dark and quiet. The world of Cybertron had died, or was dying.

Mercy, or Ferreus, or whatever her name was going to be, wanted to believe her memories were a lie. The sparkling silver world was not dull and gray. The ancient artwork of a golden world filled with beautiful glittering cities was still a future possibility.

Another part of her didn't care if they were fake. Either way, she was the first human to visit an alien world. Her spark had never seen the towers of Kaon let alone the silver cities of Cybertron.

The hallways were perfectly featureless. The panels were seamless and the walls were flat. They were less like rectangular hallways and more like octagons, with two slanted panels above and below. Mercy guessed that it was designed to look like the inside of a Cybertronian, which was somewhat unnerving. The cables in Ferreus' neck were wide hexagons instead of smooth circles.

She wondered what hers looked like. She was obviously not a femme as she still had the same mech build Ferreus did, so most likely hers looked like Ferreus'.

That was kind of disappointing, but not entirely unusual. Cybertronians came in only about thirty distinct frame-types, so millions of Cybertronians could look exactly the same unless they had modifications or parts of their kibble permanently removed. This composite of Ferreus and Mercy fell into the latter category. Her doorwings were missing and she had two bizarre looking shoulder cannons. The only thing that made her otherwise different from someone else with her modifications was her armor color.

She spent most of her time traveling down the halls, wondering why a planet with energy shortages still had automatic doors that scanned who ever stood in front of them long enough. Sure, it seemed like good for security, or even keeping tabs on where everyone on the planet was, but when the survival of your race hinged more on energy itself and less on whether or not someone was a spy, it was very stupid.

Of course, she could be completely wrong about the energon shortages. Primus above, separating fact from fiction was going to be a literal living nightmare. Her fake memories - _Ferreus'_ memories - weren't helping her situation any, especially since it had been almost a full vorn since Ferreus was supposedly online.

"Hey!"

She halted and turned around to look at the speaker, bemused. A Polyhexian approached her, a scowl on his face. When he realized she had no intention of going anywhere, he slowed down. She took the opportunity to assess her potential enemy.

He was slightly taller than her and bulkier around the top, despite both of them being mechs. He had an orange-gold visor, a dark grey faceplate, and the black helm with the standard audio horns stereotypical of Polyhexians. The rest of him was mostly black armor with some white and a wide stripe of red down his protruding chest, obviously styled after some kind of Enforcer uniform with a mix of racing colors. He reminded her instantly of Jazz, if Jazz had shark-like denta and thin dark grey lips that were twisted into a snarl.

"Who the frag are ya? This is the offica's quarters. Ain't no grunts allowed."

"My quarters are room 610-B," she responded calmly, looking largely unimpressed with his attitude.

He looked like he doubted it, but the possibility of talking to an officer stilled his sharp tongue. "Credentials?"

She pulled her datapad out of subspace and handed it to him.

He scowled harder, looking like he wanted to shatter the datapad in his servo. "Chief Security Officer Ferreus?"

"Yes," she said with annoyance. " _That's_ my designation."

"Never heard of ya," he snapped back, slamming the datapad in her midsection as if it personally offended him. She smoothly subspaced it, unimpressed. "Ah'll escort ya ta yer quarters," and he smiled nastily, "and see ya try to get in."

She didn't comment, walking side-by-side with the Decepticon until they reached the doors with the glyphs 610-B on the side. She waited patiently as her spark signature was scanned and the door opened.

It was a massive berthroom with two recharging chambers side-by-side on the far left wall. Two large desks were on the left and right side of the room, pressed up against the wall with the left one at the foot of the chambers. On the right was a single washroom stall, between the wall and the right chamber, long enough to hold a tub and with opaque glass preventing them from seeing inside of it. It felt twice as large as her human bedroom, but lacked all the clutter that had prevented her from getting to her personal desk, and simultaneously seemed ridiculously small considering the size of the stuff in it.

The Polyhexian whistled. "Well, who knew he had it in him?"

Her armor flared as she realized her assumption was right and these quarters belonged to someone else first. "Excuse me?"

"Er," he said, scrambling for words, only fueling her irritation as he glanced almost nervously down at her. "Yer clean. Ah've got work ta return to." He hurried down the hallway.

She stared after him thoughtfully before entering the room cautiously, suddenly nervous that Shockwave or someone else might end up walking in on her here. She could not, in good conscious, attempt to use one of the recharging chamber.

She was afraid of her own berthroom. The thought was ridiculous even to her. But why wouldn't she be? She had just discovered she was sharing quarters with someone. It was a bit of a stretch to say it was Shockwave but at this point her only suspect was Shockwave. She would have preferred the nasty, unfriendly Polyhexian who was closer to her real height than the emotionless science-minded tankformer known as _Shockwave_.

It was like she was experiencing Ferreus' memories of the gladiator cell, only this time she was expecting it to happen between her and Shockwave in the future. Interfacing. It was very different from human sexual acts, but at the same time too similar. Cybertronians didn't have reproductive systems, so when they interfaced it was purely to donate energon and fluids to a friend in a pleasurable way. Arguably, they lost more net energon this way.

She shuddered to think of all the "poor mecha" who were raped just because some elites thought they were "sharing the wealth". Ferreus' memories told her that wasn't entirely inaccurate. When the energon crisis hit the mainstream media, those kinds of rape were basically widespread. Some poor mecha had even gone so far as to set up whole businesses based around the practice just to survive. They were always black market businesses because the government decided what businesses were legal or not, and if the government didn't come up with the business idea then it was illegal. That's what was called Oppression.

Primus, Cybertronian society was worse than anything she'd thought it could be. At least during the way you could actually choose which function you wanted to be assigned to. Before it, the government decided purely based on aesthetics that they commissioned you with. Good luck to you if your spark wasn't into it.

The thought sent a stab of fury through her. _No one_ tells Mercy Ferris what to do. The fact that Shockwave used to be a Senator pressed all her buttons in all the wrong ways. Mercy Ferris was the kind of girl who did the exact opposite of whatever her so-called authority figures did just to test and see what they would do. And if Shockwave wanted her to run the building for him, he was sorely mistaken in how exactly that was going to play out.

This fury would be a useful emotion. Something she would desperately need if she was right about what she _thought_ was the Decepticon culture. Because an angry Decepticon Commander is far more intimidating than a sedate one.

But she really needed to know what the Decepticon culture was like. If she wanted accurate, up-to-date information on the habits and mindsets of the common Decepticon, as well as the habits and mindsets of potential traitors who would be her allies, then she needed to do her research.

So she poured over the history of the Decepticons. The history of the Decepticons was written by Decepticon extremists and loyalists who had a fanatical urge to constantly suck up to Megatron because he was the supposed founder and leader of the rebellion against the callous and lazy Senate. It might have begged the question as to why the Decepticons so readily embraced former Senator Shockwave into their fold if they hated the Senate so much. Since the mass majority of mechs liked sucking up to Megatron, this probably meant that the blame for his acceptance rested solely on Megatron's shoulders. _He_ had decided Shockwave should live and so _history_ rewrote itself to make Shockwave out to be the only sane one among the Senate. Even if that might not be the case.

There was so much fanatical devotion that Mercy was starting to hate Megatron purely because it existed. Did the mech know how much control he had over these mecha? How could he abandon them to Cybertron? Was he encouraging this kind of behavior for his own ends? She couldn't imagine which was worse. It went against all her principles. If someone was devoted to you, don't shaft them.

It would serve her purposes. As long as the Decepticons were mostly fanatically devoted to Megatron, they were predictable.

But that was merely the surface level. The Decepticons had rewired their culture to better fit Megatron's ideology. They were cutthroat and ambitious, more than willing to kill or lie or steal or cheat purely to gain leverage over their perceived enemies. After the Autobots left, most deaths had come from Decepticon killing Decepticon just to gain a new spot of territory.

_And Shockwave thinks I can end all of that?_

Ferreus' skill as a political analyst and her past as a tactical commander made such an assumption reasonable. She had only to access that information in order to do her job. But Mercy wasn't Ferreus and Mercy was in control. Mercy hated mecha just as much as she hated authority, and saw any means to manipulate them a way to seize control back over her life and prevent the incompetent from getting her friends killed.

And right now, one of her friends had sent her halfway across the galaxy to restore Cybertron. That took precedence over everything else.

The only way to de-fanaticize the Decepticons was to attack Megatron's image, not obviously enough that anyone would notice it was her, but not too subtly or else it wouldn't be eventually traced back to her when she needed it to be. To start, she needed some other source of information, untouched by Decepticon fanatics, that was trusted by the larger community. Something that could actually tell her what happened to Cybertron and put the Decepticons on the right path to concerning themselves with the problems of their planet rather than a mech who had abandoned it.

Everything on the Decepticon news board seemed to be completely focused on reminding everyone about just how great Megatron is, like they were trying to cover up for the collective butt hurt at him abandoning the planet to its fate. "He'll come back," was the only comfort the fanatics could provide themselves and it was something that Mercy disagreed with to the very core of her being.

"They don't come back," she wanted to tell the world. "When they abandon you, they never come back. You have to take care of yourself."

That's what the Decepticons on Cybertron were failing to do. Instead, whenever it was brought up, they redirected the flow of conversation to Shockwave. He was saving the planet, yes, because Megatron said that was he was doing and because Megatron told him to do so. There was no actual facts to support this but everyone was convinced of it anyway because a lie repeated tenfold becomes a collective truth.

She desperately needed an unbiased source of information, and she could only find information on the Iacon Hall of Records. Not the Hall of Records themselves, not even a copy of the information in it, just a reference to it. It was like being told that there was a great big library out there that had tonnes of information on everything surrounding the petty slap fights of the Democrats and Republicans that could give her real context for those fights, but also good luck trying to find it, fragger.

Mercy felt like the universe had been momentarily re-engineered specifically to frag with her.

What little the Decepticon datanet told her was something she could have ultimately figured on her own and was genuinely unhelpful. The Decepticons and Autobots had fought over the Iacon Hall of Records for most of the war, but whether that was to acquire or destroy it was entirely up for debate.

There was no information about what they would do with it beyond "Megatron wants it" and whatever Megatron wants, the Decepticons provided. It told her nothing about why Megatron would want it, and she was getting the distinct impression she was going to have to figure that out for herself. To do that, she needed to physically go to original the Iacon Hall of Records and search through its files herself. Which meant she needed to have the free time to do so, something that getting stuck rearranging the hierarchy at Darkmount wasn't going to provide.

It brought her back to one of the few things that made her fury kick up a notch and boil under the surface.

While the Decepticons on Cybertron figured out who would be the new Second under Shockwave, Shockwave had decided to tailor-make his own Second and order her to deal with the growing problems on Cybertron. Shockwave, the former Senator, instead of confronting the situation and selecting from readily available mecha to be his Second, had chosen the lazy option. How many more mecha were going to die before she was finally accepted as the new Second? A lot of them, maybe even by her own servos, because she was a nobody. Her encounter with Offbeat had taught her that much. If she found hard information showing that he was not actually researching a cure for Cybertron, he wasn't just going to be dead; he was going to be an example to Megatron if _he_ didn't start correcting his course and start actively trying to achieve the original goal of the Decepticons.

The original goal of destroying the Senate and saving Cybertron and Cybertronians alike from energon deprivation.

Mercy needed followers. She needed mecha who she could delegate and trust, mecha she could manipulate and control, and mecha who would willing die for her beliefs. Followers who would be willing and able to help her destroy the propaganda machines of the loyalists, and those who would be willing to push a more sympathetic angle about the Autobots and absolutely destroy the image of Megatron. Acquiring so many followers would require finesse, orator skills, timing, and charisma. It required a lot of the skills she had developed as human on planet Earth.

 _I am tailor-made for this job_ , she realized, fighting a flash of fury. If she had her way, she wouldn't be a triplechanger, she'd be a shapeshifter with a transcanner.

She was going to save Cybertron, restore the Allspark, and survive the war. Somewhere along the way, she was going to find Prowl and meet him for the first time. The thought sent her spark spinning in circles, as if it wanted to tell her something but didn't know how to describe it. She got the distinct impression of a mech, black and gold, and remembered from Ferreus' that this Prowl was black and gold like the Animated version. It was actually disappointing. She hoped that he was more like his comic counterpart, if less of an aft.

She looked forward to their first awkward moments face to face. She wanted him to know she existed and would be interested in getting to know him. Maybe even end the war for him.

She shook the thought aside as she forced herself back to the important thing. What was she going to do about her position as Second? Did she want to keep it? Could she use it to create a peaceful future where she could eventually meet Prowl face-to-face?

Okay, now she was running herself around in circles. Why did Prowl even come up? She rubbed her chest, annoyed with herself and the strange ache in her spark. She had completely ignored it during the long monologue going on in her own head but now it was suddenly paramount. Did Cybertronians have bondmates? They had sparks, quantum physics was still a thing last she checked, so it seemed likely that bondmates existed. Perhaps investigating into what that actually meant for a spark would be best. Might explain why her spark was acting funny, at the very least. Who knows who she brushed passed on her way to Cybertron? She found herself looking through the medical files, wondering who could be trustworthy. She still had no desire to really go searching through her alien memories.

But a future of peace required her to think about her image and how it would appear to an Autobot. They knew what Decepticons without morals acted like, so seeing a Decepticon with morals would be almost too easy to spot. That's what she needed - a moral. A line she would not cross.

The voice of Optimus Prime seemed to arise from her memories; " _Freedom is the right of all sentient beings._ "

 _Every sentient and sapient creature has the right to live,_ she decided. _To infringe upon this right is amoral. Justice is defined by the equal and opposite retribution of victims against their oppressors._

For something she had just made up, she actually liked it. It could be tweaked for a Decepticon-Autobot society as well, eventually.

What really mattered was that she was a living example of this and that she could slowly change the culture of the Decepticons enough to adopt this moral for themselves and eventually the laws that would enforce it.

It would help if she changed her name.

 _The same way the war started with a simple rebranding_ , she mused, twirling her stylus inanely in her servos.

A designation among Cybertronians was exactly that - an important name that was meant to convey some kind of ideal or brand. It was distinct in use to a normal name, which was a simple branding given upon one's creation to serve as placeholder until the individual came up with his own designation. A designation was what the word _Megatron_ had become after mechs had started calling him _Megatronus._ It was the final realization of whom a Cybertronian wanted to be, often in open defiance of what their culture demanded they become.

Ferreus, which meant Cruel Iron in ancient Cybertronish, was a name to Mercy. So was Mercy Ferris. If she wanted respect, she would have to take great care in choosing a designation for herself, to use that designation as a warning. It had to embody who she was. Like Megatron's.

_But what would that be?_

She couldn't think of anything. She knew it would have to match whatever changes overcame her personality component and what mecha would learn of her. It needed to sound powerful to match her new position as Second of the Decepticon forces. Sort of like Ferreus.

It was ironic, how someone who had rebelled against authority her whole life would suddenly find herself in a position of power that she did not want.

A dark fury burned in her energon lines at the thought. She had to stop and vent in soothing rhythmic breaths before it started to fade. It was stronger than any other emotion she had ever felt, stronger even than the deep pit of sadness when she realized her own mother didn't want to get to know the real her and only judged her at a surface level. But it was also old. _I have been wronged, and I'm going to change it._ But rather than the helplessness which followed afterwards because she had been a child when it first showed up, this time it was strong and refused to fade. _I am not weak and helpless_ _anymore_ , said the dark fury. She almost felt unhinged with the weight of it, like a shaken bottle of coke that could pop at any second. It had seeped into the core of her very being, turning her cold and steely, replacing the deep pit of sadness with something that she could almost physically bite into.

She wanted to see what this dark fury would do. It was exciting. Her thoughts went to Shockwave and his own ineptitude at dealing with the continuing crisis on Cybertron, it went to Megatron and his continued folly in chasing after the Autobots when Cybertron came first, and it went to the irrational hatred she felt for the Autobots abandoning the planet they had been forced to abandon.

All of this was Megatron's fault. He encouraged the war, masterminded it, kept it going after he lost the position of Prime to Optimus Prime. She relished the thought of tearing his image apart, feeling a tinge of disappointment because she knew it would be too easy.

And it would all start with one mech, one rumor.

She stormed out of her quarters with more fire and fury than she was used to but that certainly matched the furious mech who had stormed out on Shockwave. Her face was hard and steely. She found the mech she was looking for easily enough, patrolling the officers quarters.

"Officer Offbeat," she practically growled.

The Polyhexian whipped around, his orange-gold visor flashing. His shoulders went up defensively and a distinct unhappy keen filled his voice. "Yes sir?"

"I've been recently promoted, Officer Offbeat," she said his name so sharply that he straightened, "to the position of Second under Shockwave. However, I am more happy to concede the position to anyone who wishes to file a few documents for me." She flared her armor so she looked bigger and bulkier, a darker sneer coming over her face. "I do not accept cowardly incompetence."

Offbeat seemed surprised. "Yer lookin' for competence?"

"Yes," she said. "Which means, whether you like it or not, you are on the list of candidates for the position."

Offbeat made a strange strangled noise - like he'd been about to curse but someone had punched him in the gut. She watched with vague amusemnet as he started to stammer out words and denials and excuses.

"Do not worry, Offbeat," she said, somewhere between a growl and a mutter. "I never expected you to take the position, but I think you might be able to help me find someone who will."

He seemed to relax somewhat in relief, but he still spoke cautiously. "Who ya thinkin' about?"

That was the problem. She wasn't thinking of anyone specific, but to give that up now when the game was only starting was basically asking for everything to dissolve into chaos. "That is for me to know and the rest of Darkmount to find out. Right now, all I care about is your opinion."

"Oh?"

"Yes." She gestured an _after-you_ down the hall. "Let's take a walk."

Offbeat looked between her outstretched arm and the distant hallway, considered all the ramifications of abandoning his post before he remembered who he was talking to. She could practically see the moment when he access the datanet and came up with proof she was telling the truth about the promotion. He relaxed a hair more.

"Lets," he agreed.

She decided to take that as an open offer to continue. "I have been in repair bay for the last quartex so I am a little lost on who is still alive. Shockwave does not keep good records of the dead. His attention is too focused on science." She allowed her distaste for that fact show in a small sneer. "He seems to be under the impression that my unique skillset will make me suitable to the role of Chief of Security."

"What kind of skillset do ya have?" Offbeat asked, before adding quietly. "Ah ain't ever heard of ya affore today."

 _Did Ferreus actually_ _exist?_ she wondered. _Or is she made up?_ Right now, that information didn't matter. "Tactical skills."

Even with a visor, she could tell his optics had gone wide. "Yer a _tactician_?"

"Indeed. My tactics lean more towards propaganda and political climate rather than the battlefield."

"Ah."

She paused, curious. "Did you really think Megatron would get his tactics from a Praxian gladiator? Did you think Shockwave would?"

He flinched at the word 'Praxian', and she made a mental note to figure out what actually happened to Praxus some other time. "Ah hear ya."

A hint of annoyance crept into her voice. "The keyword in that statement is 'gladiator'."

"Touché."

She decided not to speak on the topic further and skip straight to the point. "I have noticed that all my former associates seemed to have mysterious disappeared in the last battle. Tell me, who is looking to rise up in the ranks right now?"

Offbeat snorted. "Who ain't?"

"Perhaps a better question would be who is closest to taking the position of Second-in-Command?"

"Onslaught, Slipstream, and Black Airachnid." He listed them off his digits like he'd been doing it for vorns. His disgust with each name did not give her high hopes of handing off her position to someone of actual competence.

But her processor was stuck on another thing. " _Black_ Airachnid?"

"Yeah," he said, "she changed her designation after the Autobots left. She's trying to be the next Insecticon commander."

She searched through the datanet for information on the Insecticons and found a short list of sentients and a long list of drones. "No doubt plans to do so by virtue of having a large army."

Did she have the firepower to destroy an entire army if she decided to pick someone other than Black Airachnid?

"Yeah," he said unhappily. "We could use the extra space, tho'."

"Onslaught?"

"Trying to take over the lower secs."

The lower secs of Darkmount included the officer's branch and the Chief of Security position had taken. She checked the records and realized that someone named Snare was currently working under Onslaught as a pseudo-Chief of Security. In other words, if she tried to publicly claim the position, she would become a target for Onslaught and the rest of the lower sects.

"Slipstream?"

"The new ruler of the upper sects."

The upper sects was a much smaller space than the lower sects, but it was populated almost entirely by Kaonite and Vosian seekers, ruled by the Vosian Slipstream. Mercy couldn't foresee any issues there. As long as the Seekers held a position of esteem like that of Air Commander, they'd be less inclined to get up in arms about someone else being Second. They'd just be painful to deal with because of their unjustified prejudices and resentment for groundbound frame types.

Between the upper sects and the lower sects was the science sector which was ruled casually by Shockwave and populated by a sparse collection of scientists, those who had survived being targeted by Autobot assassins or Shockwave himself.

She instinctively flicked her doorwings back but a warning on her hub reminded her she didn't have those. She skipped to a shrug instead. "Well then, I suppose we either have to wait around for better candidates or suffer with the candidates we have."

"They ain't gonna be happy to accept anyone but themselves," Offbeat pointed out, frowning.

"Indeed." She finally looked at him, giving him a long thoughtful look. "You have been very helpful, Offbeat. I'll be sure to remember this later."

"Please don't, sir," he responded, voice thick.

"Do not worry," she began. "I am not going to do anything..."

She halted in the hallway and stared with a mix of wonder, shock, and horror. Her gaze had drifted out the first wall-to-floor window they had come across and then down beyond to the glittering black horizon of an alien world. She had always imagined to be a silver world, with a few broken down ruins and shattered city-states, with a clear open night sky.

Cybertron was black, barely silver in the few spotlights that shown down on the city of Kaon. Above was a twisting black and purple cloud of rain that had engulfed the entire horizon. Fingers of lightning flashed across the sky, embedding the same pattern into the horizon over and over again in unceasing flashes of light. The ground underneath the storm was covered in twisted, spiked, half-formed dark energon crystals that grew out of the sides of buildings, out of ruins, out of still functioning skyscrapers with lights flickering in an attempt not to die. The entire city of Kaon between her and the horizon was a pale gray mockery of civilized life, eclipsed by the grey and black clouds that covered the sky and choked out the stars.

"Yeah, the forest has gotten closer," mused Offbeat, a curious lilt to his voice.

Every world was living breathing mechanical thing. Every ecosystem was carefully balanced and controlled. Every creature was perfectly sculpted for its unique environment. Physics did not change no matter what world you ended up on. Gravity was gravity. Thermodynamics were thermodynamics. Worlds could only evolve in certain directions. Every environment was tailored to the laws of the universe. Every environment, an ecosystem. Every ecosystem, creatures. It didn't matter if the tailor was thousands of years of evolution or a sentient universe with plots and morals outside of mortal understanding, only that the end result was the same. To mess with the environment was to destroy the creatures in it. Anyone with a complex enough processor to understand this must also then understand that foolhardy attempts at godhood would only ever result in an unbalanced and out of control universe. A disrupted and unstable ecosystem. The death of trillions of creatures. It should therefore be natural for anyone with the power to see the problems and put forth energy into solutions should do so.

Rage, fury, boiling and all consuming, took a hold of her spark. She barely managed to refrain from turning around, the desire to hit Offbeat was so strong. What she was looking at was the dying embers of a planet consumed by millions of years of neglect and callous disregard. She knew that as thoroughly as she knew who was the to blame for this catastrophe.

"I am going to issue out a mandate," she said at last, her sharp denta clicking against denta and making her entire face rattle, like she had bit down too hard on a fork. Her voice had grown darker and deeper, rumbling with barely contained murderous intent. "Whoever should hold the position of Second-in-Command must begin the campaign to save Cybertron-" she stopped herself, absorbing the distant sounds of thunder, her body shaking with the vibrations, refusing to tack on ' _and kill every last Senator and anyone whosoever sympathizes with them'_.

When she was done taking over Darkmount, Shockwave was a good as dead.


	4. Chapter 3

Planet Cybertron was dying and there was no one alive that was trying to stop it.

It burned in Mercy' energon lines, a truth that threatened to make her explode at every Decepticon she passed. Somehow she had to repair it. Somehow she had to stop the poisonous crystal forest from completely destroying what remained of Cybertron. Somehow she had to get the Decepticons to cooperate in order to restore it. Somehow she would have to stop herself from ripping Shockwave a new one the next time they met. How could any of them be so ignorant of how much neglect they were putting their planet through?

It felt like an impossible task, like walking on water.

It was almost enough to make her self-confidence waver. She was used to violent and murderous thoughts but she had never acted on them. She had come from a civilized world raised by strict civilized people, but now she was on a dying world with a cutthroat society. It wasn't hard to imagine the assassins waiting in every nook and cranny of Darkmount, waiting to grab power in the quickest and easiest way possible. If she stooped to the level of those around her, it would almost be like losing her humanity, but if she didn't the whole world would consider her too weak to command the position of Second-in-Command and she'd end up on the chopping block.

It was a problem that plagued her the entire journey down into the deepest part of Darkmount. What had Shockwave been thinking putting her in charge? It wouldn't be enough to have leverage or blackmail over her as those alone wouldn't have been able to stop Ferreus in the first place. It made her question where exactly her body had come from. Did Shockwave know something about Ferreus that she did not? Did the Allspark know something about her that she didn't? She felt like a failure before she'd even begun.

Her pedes took her to the training room, like she had been there multiple times before. Scores of drones lined the walls, each with silver armor and red optic bands across their featureless spherical heads. The bright blue lights from above glared down on her as if trying to transform the pale grey shadows into nothingness. A high walkway ringed around the main arena, currently with only a few mecha walking down to their respective places. As she relieved some her stress, the crowds began gathering on the walkway. She could hear the talk drift down from them and felt her mind grow cold and smooth like liquid metal as she slowly absorbed observations and facts about the world around her as her claws methodically and slowly tore drones limb from limb, slowly ramping up the levels until she was a blur of never-ending movement, cause and effect pushed to its limit, a sapient machine.

Rumors were like wildfire no matter what planet or civilization you were on. Social nobodies wanted to be the first to say something of potential controversy to anyone within hearing range just to feel important for a few seconds. Anyone who found the conversation actually controversial helped spread it faster. That didn't change between species. And there was no better controversy among the Decepticons than someone randomly gaining the position of Second and then putting it up for barter.

The moment the news finished spreading, everyone who wanted to be Second now waited to hear news of how to get it. Each wannabe had very different methods for acquiring this information. Some would resort to torturing mecha who had seemingly started the rumor, or had been the source of it for some designated areas. Some would resort to quietly waiting for more news while sending out mecha to key locations so they can be ready to strike and make things go their way again. After all, rumors tended to become seriously divergent after a while. Still others would send their spies straight to the source, neither to ask nor to investigate, but merely to watch and learn in the hopes of gaining some kind of blackmail on said source.

Their only real obstacle was that Ferreus was a relatively unknown name and therefore not someone they could so easily find blackmail on. She had a blanket awareness that all the key players would be watching and kept her cards close at servo.

What Decepticons failed to understand was that even if they could find blackmail on someone, it won't matter if the person they have blackmail on doesn't care about the blackmail getting out. The Decepticons already knew how bad the worst of them was and while many of them did not want bad Decepticons in charge, it hardly mattered when the entire system was rigged in favor of the strongest. If Ferreus decided to actually be as strong as she was designed to be, there would be no conversation about blackmail that would ever make her hand over her position to the one responsible for said blackmail. On the other servo, blackmail didn't matter to her in the long run. She was giving up all her power, why then would she be worried about something that would ruin her chances of gaining more power? She could literally choose a Second based entirely on her own principle and not a single Decepticon would be able to stop her.

That is, unless someone challenged her and succeeded in killing her, then the war for Second would be over and she would be dead. Decepticon law didn't prevent murder, but actively encouraged it. Those who survived were considered the strongest and those who died were considered weak. Hundreds of years of this brutal cutthroat society had already put the strongest players in charge, forcing everyone else to swallow their lot in life, which left less for Mercy to deal with.

Megatron's voice flashed through her mind as the miner told the dead analyst the best way to attack an enemy opponent in the ring. When you only had half a cube in you, be fast and vicious and win the match before it even begins. The overseers would see potential in keeping you around and also ensure you had a full cube the next time you went into the ring. That was how you survived.

That advice still made sense. So, Mercy familiarized herself with Ferreus' body. These mecha had seen combat and had seen more than one gladiator fight to the death in the ring. They would be able to spot an amateur in seconds and easily rip them apart. She could not afford to be weak. Her body moved with liquid grace and speed, responding instantly to her commands, no longer bogged down by fat or watered-down energon. Her sword slash apart drones, spraying the ground with coolant and battery acid.

She was in top physical form and would not be getting any stronger. The battle programming constructed by Ferreus after vorns in the ring easily transitioned over to Mercy. Fast and vicious were the skills of a gladiator like Megatron, and so then fast and vicious was his student and so then fast and vicious was Mercy.

But Mercy found displeasure in how easy it was for her to become so skilled. She didn't want just the skills to stab an arm and make it go limp. She didn't just want the skill to stab an arm and jerk the enemy off balance so she could twist her arm and drive her blade into the body in one fluid stroke. Ending a fight in seconds for the sake of showing off one's prowess wasn't as good as ending a fight and taking the enemy prisoner. True skill in combat was putting your enemy into a position where they could not fight back but that kept them alive long enough for you to come back around to pick them up.

Megatron did not understand this. The Decepticons did not understand this. This was calculated precision, of always being in complete control of the battle regardless of circumstances. It required planning, understanding the enemy's weaknesses and strength so as to tug and pull them into a paralyzing embrace. It was to seek victory and conquest without unnecessary loss of life, something that would become more and more valuable as the war raged on. The Decepticons had no concept of long-term strategy, only immediate victory and keeping key resources to further the war efforts to eradicate the Autobots.

She understood that the cheers and boos were echoes of a time when gladiators were understood to be the best warriors of Cybertron. Every strike that landed on her armor, every little ground she gave so the drones could land a scratch on her, made precisely to shatter any potential image that she could rival even the best of Decepticon fighters. Most audience members would look on the fight and think she was a pale comparison to Megatron, would tell her enemies that she was weak and they would seek her death by combat. This did not deter those who would resort to poisoning her energon anyway, but would help identify one type of enemy which she could easily decimate when the time came.

The weak drones were nothing compared to the role she now played in the larger game. Any Decepticon who fancied the Second's position would be easy to spot now and the first to make the attempt to kill her would find himself barely losing out to her. Always barely losing, because to allow it to go any other way would be to tip her hand too far. Let those who watched her now think she was weak for failing to be Fast and Vicious, let them not realize what was she was actually trying to teach herself to do and looking like a complete amateur while doing so.

But she couldn't pretend that intelligent Decepticons didn't exist. The astute observer may note that she had the correct posture and occasionally the right speed, so the real question they would be asking themselves is why she was going so slow when she was capable of going fast. Obviously, she had a goal in mind, such as lay a trap for them. She wasn't doing this for them, technically, but for herself and those who wouldn't notice. Decepticons who see weakness will prey upon that weakness, especially if they are blinded by their own arrogance and are willing to be suckered into the deception of her act. On the other hand, intelligent viewers will question whether or not she really is as weak as she appears, be weary and curious as to the game she is playing and look at the larger picture in an attempt to figure out her main goal. If they was to seem weak or to mess up, then they would come forward with poisons and backstabbing in order to throw her out of the way.

There existed two types of enemies in this world; the cowards and the traitors. If she was victorious, they would have to die. She could not afford to keep her competition alive, could not afford to allow this cutthroat game to continue when every life was precious. She had to win her battles so thoroughly that not even the dumbest of mecha would consider going against her. As a minibot, that would be the hardest problem to solve.

As a former human, perhaps not so much. It was the trait of her entire planet that each and every individual creature could adapt to a wide variety of changes and circumstances. That didn't change even when she became a robot.

The cheers died down as the last drone fell to the ground, twitching, the cables along its back flopping along the ground as green-grey battery acid purged out of its system, coating the floor. She walked away from the drones towards quiet murmurings of praise and appreciation, and she fought the desire to scan the crowd to memorize the faces. Not terror but awe, not horror but amusement. Every scratch on her chassis was a sign of her weaknesses, or so any fool Decepticon would assume.

She hated making a spectacle of herself but the itch to maim and murder had been sated and the raging parts of her processor were silent, and that was all she had really wanted to accomplish. Everything else was almost a bonus.

Almost. There were too many variables she didn't know about. Everything she had done today was based purely on generalization and even fantasy. The exact reach of her actions and the exact reach of her words was unknown. If she wanted to be heard and know she'd been heard, she had to announce her intentions to everyone on base. If anything, doing so would confirm the rumors she had already planted, if Offbeat had spread them as he'd been told to do.

No, she couldn't act like she wasn't actually responsible for what anyone under her did. She was a Decepticon commanding officer, true, but a commanding officer nonetheless. She had to investigate the matter herself and then give punishment where punishment was due. Starting with those who failed to spread her rumors and ending with those who failed to follow the most basic of laws. Her laws. She had to become the new lawmaker and the new law giver and she had to make everyone on the base bow to her.

Is this what Shockwave had seen in her? She was perfect for the job because she would naturally lean towards enforcing her lordship upon the planet? Where would that leave him? Surely he knew that he would have to fight her for dominance over the Decepticons still on planet Cybertron.

She pushed thoughts of Shockwave aside. She needed to focus on her assigned task. She'd deal with him after she had brought the rest of the planet to heel.

"Decepticons," she announced, her deep voice rumbling through the massive room like thunder. "I have an announcement to make as the new Second In Command of Cybertron. Only the Decepticon who puts the fate of Cybertron first will be offered a grand position. That position is only for those most deserving of it. It is not for the strongest, for I am the strongest, but for the noblest and most honorable. The lordship of Cybertron cannot fall to those who seek power for power's sake. It belongs to those who would use it for the benefit of Cybertron and every Cybertronian. So mark my words, Decepticons. The fight for Second in Command is already over. The fight to become ruler of Cybertron has only just begun."

She had just changed her mind about the position of Second-In-Command. It was on a whim, except not really. It was collateral, a bargaining chip, one she couldn't throw away easily. She had intended to abandon Cybertron, but now she was ready to fight for it. The rage within her... It was offensive to her that anyone would let their planet get so far down the path of destruction without someone standing up for it and trying to come up with ways to ease off the inevitable or even to put it off entirely. That responsibility had fallen to the old corrupt Senate and a new government needed to take its place, one that could embrace an ideal that all Cybertronians could get behind; the restoration of Cybertron.

In the end, it was either Cybertron that would be saved or the survivors of the war. Regardless, the infighting was going to stop soon.

Shockwave would disapprove of her statement no doubt, but the sudden excitement in the slowly disappearing Decepticons told her that more than one Decepticon would approve the announcement. They were eager to take the bait if it meant power and control. More than one would find themselves fighting for her position of Second, surely, just to stay under their current commanders and every last one of them foolish enough to try would end up dead. But those who want to prove themselves noblest and most honorable would find other ways to gain approval, especially as the bodies started to stack up. No Decepticon worth his processor would fight someone with a lot of dead mechs under their pedes.

Shockwave could disapprove all he wanted. If he expected her to come to heel just because he had supposedly reactivated her, then he was going to be sorely disappointed at the outcome. No doubt it would take a while before he realized what happened since he was always so preoccupied with science, but that day was coming and she needed to prepare to end him. To end Megatron. To end Sentinel Prime. To end Optimus Prime. She needed a servo in every part of Cybertron and she needed fools to surround her so they couldn't understand what she was going to do. After all, a fool who listens and doesn't understand but can still tell other fools the same message they heard, then that was a fool worth keeping around to help spread her words.

"Nice speech."

Her focus instantly shifted to the mech who had spoken. The Polyhexian, Offbeat.

"Too bad not everyone is going to like it," he continued. "A lot of mechs wanted the position of Second-in-Command."

She studied him thoughtfully before looking away. "Most wanted it because it meant they could get closer to Shockwave and the position of lord over Cybertron."

"Some will still want yer position," he said, cautiously. "Yer sure yew can handle it?"

"Are you offering to handle it?" She wasn't sure she would like that. She was already one person's lap dog. There was on reason to become in debt to someone else.

"Ah could."

She didn't like that idea at all but decided it was at least something worth considering. "Walk with me."

She didn't bother heading down to the medibay and instead took a long detour around the base, her back itching with a sudden desire to see for her. It was a strange sensation.

"You're an ex-enforcer, right? Why dontcha have your little winglets?"

"You're observant," she said instead. "I didn't have a choice in the matter. Shockwave deemed them unnecessary."

"Unnecessary? They would make keepin' an eye out for backstabbers easier."

 _Backstabbers like Shockwave_ , she thought. _Eyes like Offbeat._ She hummed thoughtfully. "You are building a case for yourself, I see. Why would you be interested in a nobody like me?"

"Yer Second-in-Command."

"Yesterday, I didn't exist to you."

"You didn't kill me."

"I almost did."

"After ya saw the forest, not because of what Ah said to ya."

"The snipe about Shockwave?"

"...yeah."

"Do not lie to me, Offbeat. You are worried about the tone you took with me when I first showed up. The incredulity. It was warranted. I did not earn this position the normal way."

"No, ya earned it the right way."

"You assume, and you are incorrect. I was built for this position. That was never the right way to go about anything. Generations of functionist Council has proven it an ineffective way to choose the Senators, else we would not be caught up in this war."

He had stopped short. "Built?"

She didn't look back. "Indeed. Shockwave rebuilt me in his lab and made massive modifications to my original frame. That was why he had to get the doorwings off me."

"So you ain't Ferreus?"

"Never was, actually. Ferreus was a designation I used in the gladiator pits of Kaon. Maybe even afterwards. To be honest, I am not sure I actually survived the arena. My memories could all be lies."

"No, no. Ya did. Ah remember ya now. Ya were Megatron's righthand mech when he was a Senate guard."

She turned suddenly, staring at the mech for a long moment. "And afterwards?"

"Ya disappeared."

She turned away, feeling slightly disturbed to discover she might be in a desecrated corpse. Regardless, she knew she didn't originate from Cybertron so it wasn't all that surprising. But, for someone to remember that she had a relationship with Megatron personally... it seemed odd. Contrived even. Why would she have a relationship with Megatron at all? Why would the Allspark believe it was necessary to put her in this body? Ferreus and Mercy probably didn't have the same spark signature.

But the rumors, the speculation, the history... she could use this to her advantage.

_Did the Allspark foresee this?_

_(Did I really befriend the Allspark?)_

"Ultimately, my memories do not matter. I have returned now. I have changed," she said. "And I am quickly losing fondness for my old designation. I might change it later."

The conversation seemed almost over when Offbeat spoke up. "Will ya consider it?"

"Consider what?"

"Me workin' for ya."

She finally stopped in the hallway and actually looked at him. "Do you know who Ferreus is?"

"Sort of. No one really talks about him - well, yew - anymore."

"If you want to be on my side, you will do something about that. Make sure the whole planet knows who Ferreus is and that he - that _I_ \- have a returned to put things to right." She stared hard at him. "Ferreus isn't going to let anything stop him. Not Shockwave, not Megatron. We're going back to our roots, Offbeat. We are going to rediscover our foundation. What we are really fighting for." She paused long enough for it to be dramatic even as her expression morphed into a glare. "All. Hail. _Cybertron_."

Then she turned and walked away.


	5. Intermission I

The lights in the bright orange hallways flickered, threatening to shorten out. The damaged Autobot Cruiser ARK-317 crawled on its stready course outside of Cybertronian space into the uncharted sector beyond their home galaxy. That place which was nothing but a great empty black plane separting them from the center of the universe. The empty and legendary Benzuli Expanse, a place which was said to be home to the darkest original creations, including Unicron itself, if any of the religious ramblings of old were to be believed.

They were headed directly for the spiral galaxy at the metaphorical center of the galazy, as far away from Cybertron as culturally and physically possible. It was impossible to tell what exactly was driving them out there, rather than literally anywhere else in the universe, but they continued on their course at a dreadfully steady pace, moving farther and father from life giving energy rich stars. The pressure of entering unknown territory - or worse, territory that was plagued with the same Dark Energon seeds that had been scattered across Cybertron itself - weighed heavily on the whole crew. Moreso on the tactician whose plan had been, for lack of a better term, _sabotaged,_ therefore preventing them from turning around and going home.

A black and gold Praxian strode purposefully through the halls, his angular doorwings raised a touch too high, as he fought to contain his fury. Mecha - the few femmes they had on board to represent the Femme Division and the mass majority of variously sized mechs who made up most of the Autobot forces - all of whom had only needed minor repairs after the battle and could therefore turn around and walk quickly in the opposite direction of the livid Second-In-Command. Prowl was used to being avoided by the crew, so he kept his optics mostly on his datapad, pretending he didn't notice. He was already close to his destination, a wide circular metal door designed for mechs a lot taller than him to walk through.

A smaller silver mech quickly bounced in front of him, a servo raised placatingly. Prowl halted, let out a long calming vent to help cool off some of the boiling emotions underneath his armor, before he turned on his vocalizer and let his carefully manicured, polite and civil tone.

"Is there something you require, Jazz?"

"You alright?"

Prowl did not automatically say No, did not even think of the word No, but pushed beyond it to something more sophisticated. Despite that, he knew Jazz was studying him, his keen optics picking up details that any other mech would miss, but the visor prevented Prowl from knowing right away whether or not Jazz had activated his battle programming to do so. Despite his ranking as Head of Communications, Jazz's role aboard the Ark was something akin to Personal Relations Agent. Vorns of experience had taught him to differentiate the friend he knew and the officer who currently stood in front of him, willing to listen to his grievances before Prowl had a chance to explode.

 _Not today,_ Prowl decided. There was a target in his mind. He wasn't going to let out his steam until he was standing in front of that mech.

"I will be fine," Prowl said.

A silent battle of wills started before Prowl could even really register what was happening. They stared at each other silently, sizing each other up, their respective visors hiding the way their optics no doubt had started to pale as their processors kicked into overdrive. Their armor flared in warning, and their optics flickering with emotions their visors hid.

Jazz opened his mouth to say comforting words but nothing came out.

What could be said? Prowl had outlined the entire plan to everyone. He made sure the right tacticians were in the right places and commanded the best teams and even had backups in place in case someone died, but it had all been for nothing. A mech who had been given too much power and authority for the most baseless and sentimental of reasons had decided to ignore everything in favor of his own outdated experiences, getting even more mecha killed than necessary and destroying their last chance of returning home.

"Ya know how he is," Jazz finally said. "He's sorry."

"Sorry does not bring the dead back to life," snapped Prowl. "Sorry does not ensure this is will never happen again."

Prowl knew he had taken the wrong tone. He wanted to say his voicebox had slipped up. But in reality, he was too angry to keep it under control. _This situation is out of my control_ , he thought, _and I'm tired of it._

Jazz shifted from normal laid back stance to something a little bit more intimidating, for someone who was trained to fight. On the Ark, only a few mecha had a chance to see it. Sunstreaker - the yellow and white warrior with a pension for picking fights over little things like the _color of a wall_ \- was one. Prowl never expected himself to become one of the others. The steely metal shifted without emotional purpose, instead taking a stance that would help prevent harm to the protoform underneath. Prowl was reminded of a cyberhog rattling its quills as it raised them and spread them out. But there was an underlying reluctance to it.

 _Do not fight me here_ , his body language said, _but I am ready if you do._

Hurt. Prowl reigned in his temper enough to respond civily. "I promise I am not going to hurt him." A small part of him wanted to scream _'You should know me better than that'._

"Ya need to calm down," Jazz said firmly, but his armor settled back around him and started projecting his emotions again. "Yer projecting all over the base."

Thinking about everyone else on base suddenly reminded Prowl why he was angry in the first place. Let them be upset. He was upset. They could have died in the last battle if it wasn't for pure luck. There were only so many lines that Prowl was willing to accept being crossed before something serious needed to be done about it. He should have done something vorns earlier. It was about time that everyone started to understand he wasn't going to play that game anymore.

"Get out of the way," Prowl half-growled, wings flared up a notch higher.

Jazz stiffened. There was a touch of confusion and concern in his posturing, from the way his armor shifted between intimidation and consolutory. He seemed to understand that the situation was more serious than normal. Prowl hoped he would step aside. He would have rather not have to bring rank into this, but if Jazz pressed for information he would. The silver mech was only a second lieutenant, not a Commander, but they were _friends_. It had become complicated long before they had started sharing a berthroom. Jazz didn't even make it on the top thirteen list for highest ranking Commanders in the whole army.

Pulling his servos back, Jazz flattened his armor and stepped aside. "Whatever ya say, Boss." There was a definite angry edge to his tone but he smoothed it out with a sigh. "Jus' be careful, Prowler."

Prowl winced. Jazz had seen the warning sign and backed off, and he was angry that Prowl had taken _that tone_ with him. It wasn't something that Prowl could avoid at the moment. Jazz didn't understand what had been done.

But the mech had stepped aside and Prowl's target was now one door away from him. He was eager to enter it.

Except... Prowl barely took a step forward, doorwings flickering between angry and annoyed, fighting with himself and his impatience to get his words out at his target of choice. He really didn't like putting his friend in this position. He had to rectify it. Turning his gaze back down to the datapad, Prowl flicked a copy of the file across the screen and felt relief when he heard the distinct chime as his datapad received the file.

"Review that before coming in," Prowl said quietly, apologetically, knowing his friend would be able to hear and understand. Then he stepped up to the door, pausing long enough for the ship's scanners to register his spark signature and allow him entry.

The room was longer than it was wide, with a small holotable in the center. The holotable had multiple lines running through it where it could extend and fold out, allowing it to fill up the room for larger meetings than this. The top of the table was distinctly glass which reflected a simulation of the previous battle. Prowl took quiet, furious note of the fact that Ironhide was the one at the table with their leader, and he had the simulation focused on the wrong problem.

"I see," said Optimus Prime slowly, lifting his helm to look up at Prowl. "Were you aware of this?"

"I am aware of many things," Prowl said civilly, walking up to the simulation so he could really look at all the information presented to the Prime. A few pieces of information, he could already tell, were not based on tactical information. "May I update this simulation?"

Optimus Prime nodded. Prowl knew right away that the mech was frowning, probably at whatever Ironhide said had been wrong or gone wrong or whatever other excuse the old warrior had decided to use to justify disobeying orders. He didn't care. Prowl made the corrections as if on autopilot, before leaning away from the simulation in satisfaction at it spat out new numbers.

Ironhide straightened, and Optimus Prime's frown deepened behind his facemask.

"Is this what you were expecting?" Prowl asked Optimus Prime, searching the mech's posture for some sign of him connecting the dots.

"Nobody told me any of this," Ironhide said, his voice quiet but cross.

"It is all right," said Optimus Prime. "Everyone makes mistakes."

"It is not alright."

Prowl and Ironhide had said it at the same time. Ironhide looked at Prowl, his face stony.

"Optimus Prime," said Prowl, as respectfully as he could. "This is not the first instance of this happening. It's only been getting worse as the war goes on. We cannot effectively execute any kind of strategy if they are being undermined at every possible opportunity."

Optimus Prime's armor threatened to flare but he forced it flat. "What are you suggesting?"

"Demotion," Prowl said without any hesitation.

Ironhide straightened like someone had set his energon lines on fire. "Ah beg yer pardon?"

"Ironhide," Optimus Prime began with all the fury of a protective friend, "is one of our greatest warriors. His experience and expertise on the battlefield has won us multiple different battles all throughout the war."

"Ironhide," Prowl responded flatly, "has jeopardized the goals of this entire army for the sake of his own sentimental values. At every opportunity, he has ignored orders or changed orders based on faulty information or pure supposition just to save his own team at the cost of everyone else. It is pure luck that he has won us any victory at all."

"These are some serious accusations," Optimus Prime said, his engine revving. "Where is your proof, Prowl?"

Prowl wanted to snort at the Prime and gesture at the simulation which he had just fixed, but refrained from the obvious display of his disgust and frustration. Instead, he lifted his datapad and flicked all the appropriate data across the screen. The simulation instantly went alive, shrinking the small battle down as it began updating everything else that had been happening around it.

"This is the battle as it actually happened." Prowl flicked his servo across the datapad and looked up expectantly. Blue figures faced against purple figures on the battlefield, with every casualty blinking out with a flash of red. A massive amount of the blue surrounded Ironhide's team, all headed in the same direction but at various paces. All except for Ironhide's, which turned sharply away from the battlefield and started heading off in another direction, along with another small team of Autobots on his heels. Behind him, the Decepticons took advantage of the opening and struck at the heart of the Autobot invasion force, destroying all the precious cargo and defeating the entire army from within.

"This is what would have happened had Ironhide followed orders." The holotable flickered. Ironhide's team remained with the invasion force, confronted the Decepticon strike force with more Decepticons winking out. The invading force of blue entered the Decepticon outpost, destroyed the communications tower, and captured what remained of the defeated enemy forces. In this scenario, they had a stronghold on Cybertron again, ready to lead the invasion force further across the surface.

Prowl shut the simulation down with finality. "If you'd like, Optimus Prime, I can give you an extensive record of the difference of a battle's result in correlation to when Ironhide obeys and disobeys orders."

The two larger mechs stared at the simulation in blank horror. Prowl would be lying if he said he didn't like their expression. It was far better than a dismissal of concerns.

He took the silence as an opening to continue. "As I have been saying since before we even left Cybertron, Ironhide may be experienced in wars but he is not experienced in this kind of warfare. He is used to having a small team to command and is used to acting to protect that team. That is _his_ skill set. He should not be put in charge of a Frontliner Division."

"You want me to demote him." Optimus Prime sounded just as sad and upset as Prowl expected him to be.

"He's made a good point," Ironhide said objectively, staring at the place where the blue army had vanished in a flash of red. He looked tired and ancient.

"You can learn to do better," said Optimus Prime faithfully.

"Ah'm old and set in my ways, Prime." Ironhide's gaze slid to Prime, his optics a sickly blue-green color. "Ah don't like this anymore than you do."

Prowl felt more than a little relieved that Ironhide of all mecha was agreeing with him, and more than a little frustrated with himself for spending so many stellar cycles settling for simple passive comments about Ironhide's performance. How many lives could he have saved if he had stood up for his strategies sooner?

Jazz chose that moment to make his big entrance, bouncing to a complete stop a full body-length from the door. He frowned at everyone in the room, an unnatural expression on his usually cheery face.

"Optimus?"

The big blue and red transport mech looked at Jazz. "Yes, Jazz?"

"We're picking up an energy spike. Percy says you'll want to see it."

Optimus Prime sighed, excused himself, and left the room. Ironhide gave the holotable once last glance before sullenly following, leaving Prowl and Jazz alone to themselves.

"So..." began Jazz. "What Ah'd miss?"

Prowl quickly reviewed the memory of the meeting just to be sure he understood everything right. "Ironhide might be demoted."

Jazz made a noise like he was about to curse but had been punched in the gut, his armor settling around his frame and his door kibble lowering sadly. "A lotta mecha ain't gonna like hearin' that."

"Ironhide agrees with me," Prowl continued, hoping to not let his friend settle in a bad mood.

Jazz nodded, looking more thoughtful and welcoming of that news. "Then he'll be retirin'. Mecha will be more understandin' of that. I'll make sure Smokey knows."

Prowl nodded. There was no need to ask Jazz if Meister knew about it. Whatever Jazz knew, Meister knew. The Second looked over his datapad again, searching uselessly for a new report. Most of the bots who were still standing had already sent in their preliminary reports, a short summary of their fight with mentions of anything odd or wrong. A full detailed report would be coming in once everyone was repaired, back on their feet, and not too busy with quadruple shifts.

He looked up with a sigh. He hated not having work.

"I should-"

A warmth, so sudden and all consuming, seemed to wrap around his spark. It washed away his tiredness as easily as if he'd been plugged into a recharging booth, filling him with glowing emotions that he hadn't felt since... ever.

"Prowler?"

He couldn't move. It was like his body wasn't entirely his own anymore. His processor spun to try and make sense of it, his battle computer roaring to life and searching his memory stores for enough information to come up with a satisfying conclusion. Half a dozen theories stampeded through his cortex, but the battle computer could not finish processing them. There were too many possibilities and not enough information. It ran hotter and hotter until it became critical, but Prowl ignored it in favor of the way his spark fluttered around in his chassis and melted with indescribable feelings against his glass chamber walls. He had never felt this way before. This all encompassing-

It was gone, snatched away by some invisible force, leaving Prowl feeling cold and alone and lost and confused and _weak_ -

"Prowl!"

His battle computer crashed.

* * *

Prowl jerked awake to a familiar and aggravating sight; the orange ceiling of the medbay. He smelled the oils and wax used during a standard maintenance check and felt his systems respond with the usual smooth speed associated with being properly and clinically greased. He sat up only for a black servo to press into his shoulder.

"Slow down and lie back."

Prowl frowned and slowly leaned back, doorwings twitching impatiently at the smaller, silver mech.

"Are ya alright?"

Jazz's voice sounded abnormally soft and gentle, more so than when Prowl had been seriously wounded on the battlefield. Prowl was instantly alarmed.

He decided to approach the situation cautiously, his own tone mirroring Jazz's. "What happened?"

"Yer battle computer crashed."

His doors gave a flicker of confusion. Surely that wasn't enough of a reason to warrant this kind of treatment? He had plenty of crashes before, though admittedly he was usually awake through it and able to recover with a simple reboot of his battle computer. His confusion quickly turned to worry as he realized his spark ached with something he couldn't identify. He studied Jazz carefully as he said slowly, keeping the panic out of his voice. "What else?"

Jazz winced. "Doc says ya had a brief encounter with one of yer... compatibles."

Compatibles? Prowl straightened, his processor reeling from this information. He had never before run into one of his spark-family before, mostly because his particular kind of spark family was extremely rare and reserved for high processor powered frame-types. They were in high demand because of their problem solving skills but there had always been such little supply. No one really understood why, especially considering they used to be far more rampant and populous during Nova Prime's era.

"Where is she?" Prowl wasn't entirely sure how he had known she was a she, but he knew that she was. He was more concerned with how suddenly hoarse his voicebox was and rubbed his throat to check for damages, but the thick armor revealed nothing but a heated frame.

Jazz pulled away a little, his armor settling defensively on his shoulders. That was the second time Prowl had seen him like that in one orn, and it really did not make him feel better.

"We don't know."

Prowl almost stood up, but Jazz put his hands on Prowl's shoulders, preventing him from rising off the berth. One of the medical tables rolled towards him, reminding him that he was attached.

"We think," Jazz continued, voice calming and soothing, "that it was the energy signature."

The black and gold mech quickly searched through his short-term memories files for the word and realized that Jazz had mentioned something like that to Optimus Prime before their leader had left the meeting room. Prowl had dismissed it at the time because he wasn't a scientist and tended to stick with his profession, but now his battle computer and logic circuits processed the situation from the new angle.

If there had been a compatible on ship, Prowl would have known about them. The entire medical team made sure everyone was aware of that information just to be doubly sure no accidental bondings happened. On top of that, the Autobot medical protocols made it mandatory for everyone to have routine maintenance checks so that their suppressor collars were always kept fully functional. Even though most mechs didn't need suppressors to prevent themselves from becoming accidentally bonded to strangers, it was a nice little insurance in case someone passed out, lost control of their EM fields, or had their suppressor damaged. As long as one of two compatibles wore a suppressor, neither of them would end up bonded to the other on accident. It wasn't fool proof; very rarely would they have cases of two mechs being damaged on the battlefield near each other and waking up accidentally bonded to the other but the suppressor existed to help prevent that from happening _all the time_.

Prowl shouldn't have even been able to feel the other spark because of his own suppressor. It would require a serious amount of energy for that to happen and a massive EM field that could easily overcome the EM counter-field of the suppressor.

"Am I bonded?" Prowl demanded, horrified that the answer was _Yes_.

"No," Jazz said, his voice sympathetic. "but ya almost were. Ya can probably feel that broken new-bond ache fading already."

He did, and suddenly realized he was pressing his servo to his chassis, right over his spark. He quickly moved it to his lap. "Any idea of what exactly that energy signature was?"

"Yeah," he said. "Yer gonna wanna be in the meeting room for this. Percy's got the whole thing ready."

Prowl was tearing energon lines from his systems and stood up, cautiously this time. "Let's go."

Outside his little recovery room, the main medbay stretched out in all directions. Rows and columns of berths lined the floor and stasis and recharging chambers lined the walls. Most were occupied by mechs who were still too damaged to be walking around. Prowl realized that the medical staff were already finishing up the major repairs and preparing for some recharge before they moved on to final procedures. This meant that everyone who could walk was already walking, which meant it would only be a few groons before he would have serious amounts of work to do. That was a relief.

The two made it to the main door before a voice stopped them.

"Wait just a minute! Who gave you permission to leave?" A mostly white mech glared at them from the other side of the room. "I don't remember signing any release forms."

Prowl flicked his doorwings moodily at the medic. "Ratchet, I am heading up to the meeting room."

"Without medical approval?"

Prowl didn't need to check the army protocols for his answer. "Medical approval is not required in writing as long as a medical escort is provided."

The mech glared at them both before he begrudgingly growled. "Give me a second."

Ratchet snatched a datapad off a berth, rapidly typed in a few commands, before dropping it off and snatching a hand scanner off a shelf. Then he was following after them, his scanner held up to where Prowl knew his spark chamber to be.

"This better be very important," Ratchet told him. "You're spark is still recovering."

"Trust me, Doc," said Jazz, with a smirk, "it's pretty important to Prowl."

"I'll be the judge of that," said Ratchet, giving the mech a pointed suspicious look. "And shouldn't the Head of Communications be handling comms?"

Jazz pouted. "Ah _am_ handlin' comms." He pointed a servo at his audio as if to demonstrate. "Have had it on all day. Blaster's telling me all about the latest news on that unusual energy signature."

Prowl was glad when they made it to the meeting room and rushed inside the moment the doors opened for him. Jazz and Ratchet stayed close behind so the spark detector picked up all of them together and none of them had to worry about the door snapping shut on them. The holotable had been stretched out so it encompassed more of the room, so all five of the mecha standing around the table could see the one projected image clearly. Among them, Prowl recognized the blue and red minibot tank and lead scientist Perceptor, the tall orange senior communications officer Blaster, the red and white security director Red Alert, and of course Ironhide and Optimus Prime.

"What's the situation?" Prowl asked, looking over the hologram floating over the table. A bright ball of energy streaked across the backdrop of a night sky, a comet tail spilling out behind it. Prowl had never seen anything like it before.

Perceptor looked like he had fallen in love with the image as he gestured at it. "We have witnessed something that has only ever happened once before in recorded history. It's an Allspark signal beacon."

"Like a distress signal?" Jazz asked, frowning sharply at the image.

"Yes, exactly." Perceptor reached with one servo and gently spun the image around. "This is a newspark being sent to Cybertron from the Allspark."

Prowl's spark lurched at the news, and he stared at the comet in shock. An EM field backed by the power of the Allspark could easily overcome the barrier of a suppressor, especially if the suppressor wasn't designed to produce a counter field for it. Allspark energy didn't exactly have a natural counter field for it, not that anyone had thought about producing one before. Maybe an Allspark priest had some ancient device that produced the suppressant field, but that technology would be seriously ancient and possibly destroyed during the war.

A strange protective feeling washed over him as he realized everyone was staring at his compatible's nakedness. "Are you sure we should be looking at it?"

"As far as we can tell," Perceptor said slowly, focus absorbed by the data on his pad and oblivious to the faux pas Prowl was asking him to stop breaking, "the spark is encased in a spark chamber designed for a body slightly smaller than Jazz's. We weren't able to tell exactly what it was designed for but we believe that, because it's on a trajectory for Cybertron's D-Hemisphere, that it might be specifically designed for a Praxian model."

A hush settled over the room. Prowl looked helplessly at the streaking comet, a sinking horror slowly dragging his tanks down to the ground. A frown settled on his face, hiding his dread as he tried to focus on making use of the information. His battle computer helpfully kicked in, allowing his face to become coolly neutral.

Praxus and all its factories were destroyed a very long time ago. The newspark would not be able to find a body there and would most likely die on impact with the planet or slowly suffocate due to a lack of an external energon source.

_I barely even know her and now you're gone forever._

"Do you know exactly where it is going?" Optimus Prime asked.

Perceptor silently ran the calculations, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "It should be in the city of Prius near Praxus' border."

Prowl looked to Optimus Prime. "Should we bring the others in on this?"

"Yes," he said decisively. "Jazz, open a private communication with Elita One, Meister, and Ultra Magnus." Optimus Prime turned to Blaster and Red Alert. "Please leave."

"No problem, Prime!" The tall orange mech cheerfully waved. He clapped Jazz on the shoulder on his way out. "Catch you later, Jazzmech!"

Red Alert did not look pleased to be dismissed. "I'll be checking the rest of the security footage," he muttered before storming out.

When the room was quiet and both gone, Jazz hooked his wrist cable out and plugged it into the holotable. "Give 'er a sec..."

An image appeared hovering over the holotable, of an silver Autobot insignia that Prowl never failed to recognize. It represented the Special Ops division as a whole, but it was only ever used to keep the operative disguised while a top secret meeting was ongoing. For the moment, it was being used by Meister.

A klik later, a tall and white blue and white transport mech and a slim pink and white femme appeared as holograms beside the table, as if they were standing there in real life. The following conversation, he knew, was going to be quick and short as well as heavily encrypted to prevent the Decepticons from picking up on it. Not that it mattered as the Decepticons would no doubt be going over the same information, wherever they were now.

"Ultra Magnus, Elita One," said Optimus Prime, cutting straight to the point. "Have you seen the energy signature?"

"Yes sir," said Ultra Magnus.

"Botanica believes that it might be from the Allspark," reported Elita One, her voice turning curious. "A newspark?"

"Perceptor agrees," said Optimus Prime solemnly.

Prowl spoke up. "I can confirm."

Elita's head turned to him curiously. "How so?"

Prowl glanced at Jazz, who nodded. "We were compatible."

The awkward silence was palpable. Perceptor blinked like he was awakening from recharge and turned off the comet's image, looking uncertainly at Ratchet. Prowl didn't glance back but he suspected that Ratchet had nodded confirmation.

Elita One grimaced. "I'm so sorry, Prowl."

"There's nothing that can be done about it now," Prowl reasoned.

Prowl felt Jazz's servo rest on his thigh briefly, but pretended not to notice. Jazz's servo pulled away before anyone else could recognize the touch as more than friendly.

Ultra Magnus spoke. "Our sensors indicate it is headed for Cybertron."

"So she is," said Prowl, a little too forcefully for his own liking. He already did not like anyone calling her an it. It was bizarre. Prowl and this newspark had to be very compatible for him to start acting this way within seconds of meeting. Even newly bondeds didn't start treating each other this way this quickly. He looked at his datapad, disturbed. Was he really that desperate for a bonded?

"The question," said Optimus Prime smoothly, "is what are we going to do about it?"

"Sub-Commander Vibes is on Cybertron," reported Elita One "We can go back for her and the newspark."

Beside Prowl, Jazz's visor had brightened fractionally and Prowl pretended not to notice the way Meister's insignia flickered. Before anyone could ask, Meister sent the silent message confirming he was still here and had not broken up. Jazz seemed to silently scold himself for losing concentration, but Prowl moved his free servo under the table to pat his friend's thigh reassuringly.

"Can I see that?" Ratchet snapped at Perceptor, pointing at the mech's datapad. A few seconds later, Ratchet was staring at the comet and glossing over the readings. "You said this one was designed for a Praxian frame type?"

"Yes," said Perceptor, curiously.

Ratchet humphed loudly. "I concur that the shell is designed for Praxian biology, sure, but the spark energy output is about enough to put it in something as big as a Sentinel."

Ultra Magnus's hologram frowned at the display. "How long until it reaches Cybertron?"

"Forty-two groons," Perceptor said absently. "At the rate of travel, it should be there before the night-cycle."

Prowl was alarmed. "That is a great distance for such a short amount of time."

Perceptor nodded. "We're lucky the sensors were on and scanning that sector of space when it appeared. We wouldn't have picked up the spark signature at all otherwise."

"Spark signature?" Ultra Magnus requested.

Ratchet waved at him dismissively. "I'm updating the medical records for a Miscellaneous Number-248M with it now."

Optimus Prime took over the conversation from there. "Elita?"

"I am going," she confirmed.

Optimus Prime cast an uncertain glance at Jazz.

"Meister says he's already sent a message to his agents," Jazz reported with a frown. "The space sector ain't clear enough yet for you to make it through, Elita."

The white and pink femme fell silent. "I will wait on Meister's all clear, then."

"Might be a while," Jazz warned. "Short of Megatron dying and everyone scattering, there's not much wiggle room to make it back there. Sorry, babe."

"It's fine, Jazz. I understand what Meister is saying."

Optimus Prime sighed loudly. "Until then, we will find the source."

The comm line went dead. Prowl's gaze dropped to the holotable, ruthlessly silencing the part of himself that wanted to imagine what his compatible looked like. His spark swirled helplessly and painfully in his chest but he refrained from letting his EM field stretch out to try and find the other spark. Afraid he might do that if he wasn't paying too close attention, he rose.

"Oh, no you don't." Ratchet put a servo on his shoulder. "You're going back to medbay."

Prowl nodded, deciding it was best not to argue with the Chief Medical Officer. "I have reports to do anyway."

Ratchet scolded. "For however long I let you stay awake." He turned to Optimus Prime. "He's going to rest for a decaorn."

"I understand, Ratchet." Optimus Prime looked at Jazz. "I'll have Meister cover for him."

With a huff, Ratchet turned away. "Tell 'Meister' to recharge on time or I'll find him no matter where he's hiding."

"You got it, boss," said Jazz flippantly, reaching over to pat Prowl's shoulder reassuringly. "Meister will know right away." His visor flashed briefly before he disconnected from the holotable. "Ah'm gonna send an update on Ironhide's retirement. Maybe Ah can find him a nice cushy office job."

Ironhide lifted his head, his optics dark with age and exhaustion. "Ah ain't gonna sit around doing all Prowl's extra work for Meister."

Jazz cheekily grinned. "Ya could _stand_ to do it."

The old red and black transport grumble-growled at the much smaller mech, but Jazz chuckled and ducked out of the room.

Prowl hardly paid attention to the mecha, staring at his datapad without even really noticing what was written there. He turned away from the holotable.

 _There are plenty of other compatibles out there_ , he thought, but his spark fluttered in protest. He could still remember the feeling of being completely enveloped in a powerful protective warmth, even though his spark wasn't sure if it was another spark or just the result of being in the Allspark's presence. It still ached with longing for that touch again, for someone who he might never meet if the Decepticons had their way with things.

Besides, it was illogical to assume anything about compatibles. It just wasn't a guarantee that they would end up liking each other. Decepticons and Autobots had very different views of how the world should work, so despite their spark compatibility their personalities might be completely unresolvable. He couldn't imagine being able to connect with a member of a faction that had spent the mass majority of the pre-war era being a terrorist group with no other goal than to let out their frustrations in the most bloody way possible, while he as an Enforcer Assigned was forced to clean up their mess even if he understood what it felt like to be constantly forced to confront the fact that his government was too self-absorbed to even care about the discomfort of someone as low down the ladder as him.

All compatibility meant was that they could bond with each other, that they were _attracted_ to each other. When it came to keeping a relationship going in the long run, it meant literally nothing. Prowl had learned that the hard way with mechs like Tumbler. Their upbringing could always make them emotionally and intellectually incompatible.

Prowl cursed himself silently. If he had taken more proactive measures to end the Decepticons before they had been forced to abandon Cybertron, the war might be over and he might have time to search for his spark sister. As it currently stood, he would be forced to go in the exact opposite direction of where his compatible was and just hope and pray he could get over his feelings for her so he could stop the war and save Cybertron without distractions.

He decided to speak with Optimus Prime about the state of the war and the next step they could take to ending it.


End file.
